On RWBY Wings
by sentinel28II
Summary: Four female fighter pilots come to Joint Base Beacon from around the world to learn how to fly and fight. Welcome to the world of Remnant...with a twist. The story concludes, as the White Fang take the secret base at Hector, and Adam confronts Ilia. There are also big changes coming to JRB Beacon as Vytal Flag enters its second half. Go check out "On RWBY Wings II: Vytal Flag"!
1. Red Sector A

_**ON RWBY WINGS**_

_**A RWBY Fanfiction of an Alternate Universe**_

_**By Sentinel 28AII**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: It's all my friend Darren's fault. Here I am, an innocent historian and occasional fanfic writer, desperate for the muse to return and help me finish _Snowbird's Tigers _or _Evangelion Evolution,_ and Darren finally convinces me to sit down and watch RWBY. Meh, why not? Ponies are coming to an end and _Monster Musume_ isn't getting a second season and I need something to watch…_

…_and wow._

_Other than a few random AMVs and cosplay, I'd never really known much about what hath Rooster Teeth wrought, but after the tragedy of Season 3, I was hooked. (Funny how that works. I was hooked on _Game of Thrones_ after the Red Wedding, too. Sweet Celestia, I've become Meroune.) So after marathoning _RWBY Chibi—_twice—and burning through the RWBY manga, the muse finally decided to wake her lazy ass up and whisper in my unsuspecting ear, "You like it, don't you? You want to write FANFICTION, DON'T YOU?" Yep, my muse is mean. A couple of hours of brainstorming, and here you go. _

_What world is this, you ask? This isn't my Remnant! Ah, but it is…with a twist._

_I hope everyone enjoys this and doesn't mind a RWBY noob let loose in Monty's universe. If not, put it down to another of Nora's caffeine trips…_

* * *

_Above the Ohio Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_April 11, 2001_

Roman Torchwick was having a very good day.

The life of an air pirate was not easy, even one that tended to be rather good at his job, and occasionally well-financed. Preying on the air traffic that linked the Remnant of the United States together could be difficult, because the larger flights tended be well-escorted. Taking on the United States Air Force was often a losing prospect, and many outlaw bands were wiped out trying to go for the big score. Torchwick was different, however: he waited, patiently, for his prey to make a slip.

And now they had.

The smaller flights tended to be unescorted, or at best would have a mercenary or two along. They were just as often not worth it. The occasional small fry was worth it to pay for fuel or armament, but they rarely had anything of value. This one, however, was different.

Torchwick grinned behind his oxygen mask and leveled his white Sea Harrier, locking on the radar. "Dawn Airlines Flight 7513, this is Roman One. Lower your landing gear and surrender. Don't bother calling for help—you're being jammed."

Torchwick caught sight of Dawn Airlines Flight 7513. It was a Boeing 757, which in theory might be able to give his diminutive Sea Harrier a run for its money on speed. On the other hand, it was an unarmed transport. Nestled underneath Torchwick's wings were four AIM-9 Sidewinder heatseeking missiles, and the 757 made for a very warm target. His gloved fingers closed on the trigger. They needed this shipment intact, but he _did_ have a reputation to consider.

The 757's landing gear dropped, the international aerial code for surrender.

"Very good, Dawn 7513. I'm glad you're a sensible one." He pushed up the throttle, outdistanced the airliner, and took up position in front of it. "Now if you have this strange attachment to your head, you'll follow me. You can't see it, but there are four other armed aircraft behind you, and every one of them wouldn't mind ventilating your derriere with various sharp, supersonic objects. I, however, am a businessman, and I would very much like to purchase the cargo you have aboard. And by 'purchase' I mean 'steal.'" He waggled his wings at them—which was not just a taunt, but a motion to follow, and began a long, turning descent. "We have no use for a cargo aircraft, so be a good boy and remain on course, and you'll keep your plane. And don't worry; the radiation down there isn't too terribly bad." Which was true, Torchwick reflected. It had been almost forty years since a Soviet missile had turned Akron into ashes, after all.

"Roman One, Roman Five. I have a bogey on scope."

Torchwick spared a quick glance behind and to the left. He did not fly alone on these jobs; he had been provided four other aircraft, flown by what could euphemistically be called henchmen. Unlike himself, the henchmen were not flying anything terribly modern, but F-5E Tiger IIs. They weren't much, but they were mainly there for intimidation, and in the right hands, even a F-5 could be quite deadly. And best of all, they were cheap. Modern aircraft weren't easy to maintain, and one had to make do.

"Roman Five," Torchwick sighed, "would you mind telling me _where_ this bogey might be?"

"Uh, sorry, Roman One. Bogey is at 12 o'clock, 25 miles and closing."

"Just one?"

"Roger, Roman One. He's a single."

Torchwick considered that. It was almost certainly not military. USAF aircraft flew in pairs, and he'd been assured that this flight was unescorted—amazing, considering what Dawn 7513 was carrying, but that was his information.

One way to find out. "Roman Four and Five, lock him up." With two air-to-air radars locked onto the bogey, it would give the other pilot something to think about, and to break off.

There was a pause as the outlaw formation continued its descent, then a slightly high-pitched voice said incredously, "Are you spiking _me_?" There was another pause, of approximately three seconds. Then Torchwick's radar warning gear lit up.

"Roman One, Roman One! Missiles inbound!"

"No shit!" Torchwick shouted, and broke hard to the left, then back to the right. The RWR light went off, but already he could see two faint smoke trails. The missiles weren't locked on him.

"Roman Four! I'm spiked! I'm—" The F-5 disintegrated as one of the missiles guided directly into it. Roman Five did not even have time for that, but was luckier than his wingman: as the F-5 became a torch, the canopy came off and the pilot ejected. The other two F-5s scattered. Dawn 7513's crew evidently had figured out that they were now in the middle of a dogfight: they raised their landing gear and their shallow descent became a rapid one.

That was not the issue at hand, however. Torchwick slammed the throttle forward. Whoever he was facing had radar-guided missiles, and a longer reach; he needed to get in close with his Sidewinders. A glint of sunlight off canopy, and Torchwick cursed again: his opponent was closing the distance as well, and the angle was wrong; he could not quite get a shot. Then he got a glimpse of what he was fighting.

It was an F-16. The single tail, blended fuselage, and wingtip rails were a giveaway. It also wore USAF camouflage of dark gray, except for the wingtips and fuselage spine. They were bright red.

* * *

_Very well._ Torchwick pulled hard on the stick, and used the Harrier's vectored thrust to cheat the turn tighter. The F-16 was faster—the Sea Harrier was subsonic—but whoever he was fighting also had their afterburner on, and that provided for a very nice heat source. The Sidewinders growled in his ears as they sensed the heat, but then the growl ceased as the F-16 came out of 'burner and turned hard to meet Romans Two and Three, who were circling around to try and flank their opponent. Torchwick sighed again as the F-16 went between the two F-5s; neither had a chance for even a hasty shot. He locked his engine nozzles back into place and firewalled the throttle to catch up.

The two F-5s had split up—a sensible maneuver, given that it would force the F-16 pilot to choose between them, with the possibility that the other would drop onto the F-16's tail. The break was poorly executed, however: while Roman Two was diving and turning to pick up energy, Roman Three was losing airspeed in a climb. He realized it and began rolling over into a dive himself, but by that time the F-16 had already completed a punishing eight-G turn, rolled to bleed off some airspeed, and was now squarely behind Roman Two. Torchwick opened his mouth to order a break, but already there was a flash of light from the F-16's port wingtip as the pilot fired a Sidewinder. A second later, and Roman Two was in a flat spin for the earth fifteen thousand feet below them, flames consuming the entire rear fuselage of the F-5. The pilot ejected.

"Good help is _so_ hard to find," Torchwick mused, but now he was in position for a shot himself—extreme range, but better than nothing. His Sidewinders growled again as they picked up the heat of the F-16. They could home in on the heat of his enemy's canopy, if necessary. They began to growl even louder, insistent, angry, wanting the kill as much as he did. His finger closed on the trigger.

Torchwick then realized the Sidewinders weren't tracking on the F-16, but Roman Three. The F-5 came up almost directly in front of him as the henchman blocked the target. He broke lock, shouting "You dumbass! Roman Three, clear the target!"

Roman Three didn't hear him. All he saw was red, because this lone F-16 pilot had just gunned down three of his friends. As Torchwick slowed down, he saw that the F-16 was doing the same: the butterfly-like speedbrakes opened slightly as the pilot shed speed. It was a mistake, as speed was life in a dogfight. The brakes closed almost as soon as they opened, and the nose of the F-16 pointed upwards into a climb—which would shed even more speed, and present a perfect target for Roman Three's own heatseekers, against a clear blue sky. The F-5 began to climb as well.

Then the F-16 snap-rolled downwards, disappearing from Roman Three's sight in an instant. As Torchwick watched, the fighter dived for a second, rolled, and climbed again, converting the kinetic energy of the dive to speed. An experienced F-5 pilot would have already broken off, evaded, or done something, but Roman Three was inexperienced, and he was panicked. "Roman Three," Torchwick warned, "he's below you! Break, you damn fool!"

It was too late. Another flash of a missile launch, this time from the starboard wingtip, and the F-5 was blown in half. Torchwick shook his head in disgust. "You were worth every cent…truly, you were."

Yet now, finally, Torchwick had his chance. The F-16 could accelerate in a climb and was doing so as it sped past the burning remains of Roman Three, but Torchwick had dived himself, and now came up behind his opponent. It had been what Roman Three was trying for, and though the F-16 was not in afterburner, it was a nice little target against the sky.

Then once more, his RWR suite lit up, and a shrill tone in his helmet earphones told him someone was locked on—this time, on him. It wasn't the F-16, who was pointed away from him, but a new threat. A quick glance at the radar showed a new opponent, coming down fast from the northwest. Torchwick snorted; undoubtedly, Dawn 7513 had finally gotten out a radio call, or someone had noticed the dogfight. He doubted that the F-16 pilot had called for help.

He glanced at the F-16. The pilot had popped their speedbrakes again, trying cause an overshoot, but Torchwick was not about to fall for that old trick. His Harrier could stand still in midair, if necessary. He was now close enough to see the tail of his enemy: the lighter gray scheme in contrast to the dark gray of the rear fuselage, the SG tailcode and data block, and most interestingly, the red scythe that covered the rudder and curved over the top of the tail. "Well, Red," he said over the open channel, "I think we can all agree it's been an interesting day. And as much as I'd like to stick around, this is where we part ways." He pressed the trigger, twice.

Two Sidewinders leapt out towards the F-16—he was actually too close for the missiles, as they would be lucky to guide at this range. That was not necessarily what he was after, however: Torchwick let the Sea Harrier fall onto its back, dropped into a dive, and flew out in the opposite direction. The F-16 would be too busy evading the missiles; sure enough, a quick look behind saw the other aircraft in a corkscrew, flares spinning away to decoy missiles that were already lofting away, doggedly but overoptimistically trying to lock onto the sun.

He returned his attention to the RWR, and knew his problems were far from over. The F-16 was no immediate threat, but whatever the second aircraft that was tracking him was. It was closing in, fast, and would be in missile range in seconds.

Torchwick gritted his teeth. "Cinder One, Roman One. I could use some…help." Another look at the RWR display. He had a bad feeling he knew what it was. "I think we have a huntress."

There was no reply, but something flashed by high and to his left. A glimpse of red—a deeper red than the F-16's highlights—and missile trails, four of them, shot from the red aircraft. _That should give our friends something to ponder._

All in all, it had not been a very good day after all.

* * *

"Unidentified F-16, this is Witch Lead. Break now, chaff!"

2nd Lieutenant Ruby Rose did exactly as ordered, especially as there were two missiles locked onto her F-16. She dove hard, twisted and turned, and punched a button on the side of her throttle. Small aluminium bundles dropped from her aircraft and spread in its slipstream, presenting a bigger radar target. One missile track dropped from her RWR display as that missile began chasing the chaff, but the other doggedly remained locked onto her. She had mere seconds before impact.

Then suddenly, that missile broke away as well. All three curved towards the speck that was Witch Lead, as that pilot switched on their electronic countermeasures—broadcasting enough noise that the enemy missiles, programmed to home on jam, locked on. "Witch Lead, they're on you!"

"I am well aware of that," the voice snapped back. The speck suddenly went into a dance that Ruby could not hope to follow with even her superb vision. It rolled and changed direction at random, punctuated by the occasional flare. The missiles, confused, flew off in every direction, eventually to run out of fuel and crash as they could no longer locate a target.

Witch Lead turned in Ruby's direction, and, to her delight, the speck grew to the shape of a F-22 Raptor. It looked otherworldly—broad fuselage, canted twin tails, engines hidden behind flat vectored nozzles, sharp nose, golden canopy. Even the dark gray splotched camouflage lended the Raptor an alien quality. On the tail, in subdued lettering she could barely read, was the tailcode BN. "Witch Lead to unidentified F-16—"

Ruby broke in. "This is Red One! I'm a flight from Signal to Beacon. I heard a brief distress call from Dawn Airlines Flight 7513, and someone locked onto me! Well, I wasn't taking _that,_ and they were obviously hostile, so—"

"Red One," Witch Lead overrode her, "cut the chatter. Take up position on my right and let's head for Beacon. Dawn 7513 is safe. What is your fuel state?"

Ruby checked her fuel gauge, and went a little pale—more pale—beneath her bright red helmet and black oxygen mask. "Er…my state is joker." She was not much above bingo fuel, what was needed to get to the nearest airfield. Below her was still the Ohio Dead Zone; Beacon was a good three hundred miles off, as the crow, or F-16, flew.

"Roger. Follow me."

Ruby spared a quick look around—for the white Sea Harrier, for whatever had salvoed four missiles at them in one second, then at her empty RWR display and radar scope, then back to the F-22. Witch Lead was staring at her, her purple helmet stark against the Raptor's gold canopy, so Ruby sheepishly dropped back into formation. "Witch Lead, Red One. Can I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Red One." The voice was irritated, impatient.

"When we get down…can I…can I have your autograph?"


	2. The Story in Your Eyes

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Second chapter. Normally I'd wait a little longer to post, but I'm having way too much fun with this. And where am I going with this? Well, we'll see._

_And yes, there are shameless references to Top Gun in this chapter. I'm not sorry. Enjoy! And if you do, please leave a review.  
_

_TECHNICAL NOTES: The "ADF" version of the F-16 is one that has been modified for the interceptor role. They are older models, and most are now out of service; in 2001, only a few USAF units still flew them. None fly them today There's as much distance technologically and chronologically between the older F-16 A models and the F-22 as there is between the P-51 Mustang and the F-16 itself._

_Without getting too technical, the AMRAAM is a long-range fire and forget missile-it guides itself. The Sidewinder is a heat-seeker. For those of you who are Top Gun fans, all of Maverick's kills in the movie were done with Sidewinders._

_The real USAF Fighter Weapons School (which is affiliated with "Red Flag," the huge exercise held four times a year in Nevada, and is broadly similar to the Navy's Fighter Weapons School, aka Top Gun) is at Nellis AFB, Nevada, just northeast of Las Vegas. Here it's mentioned as being at Hill AFB, which is north of Salt Lake City. Why the change? Well...you'll see. There is a reason why the United States is occasionally referred to as Remnant..._

* * *

_Chicago-O'Hare International Airport_

_Chicago, Illinois, United States of Canada_

_11 April 2001_

Ruby Rose raised the canopy, letting in a blast of cool air. She shivered, but luckily Chicago was experiencing unusually warm weather for early April. It was still colder than what Ruby was used to at Signal. She took off her helmet, unstrapped, and climbed down to the tarmac. She gave her F-16 a quick once over as ground crew began running fuel hoses to it. Hopefully they would not be here long before making the short trip north to Beacon. Her quick look confirmed her hopes: her beautiful _Crescent Rose_ had not so much as picked up a scratch in the dogfight. She ran her hands over the aircraft's name, emblazoned in red script on the F-16's underslung intake.

The airport around her was a buzz of activity, with aircraft of every shape and size coming in from across the USC and the world. Ruby was an aircraft enthusiast and historian—fanatic would be a better term—but right now what filled her vision was the sight of Witch Lead stomping across the tarmac from her F-22. Unlike Ruby's immaculate olive drab flight suit and G-suit, Witch Lead's suit showed some wear and tear; it had faded from long flights in the sun. As the other woman got closer, Ruby saw subdued silver oakleaves on her shoulders. Her nametape, in purple-edged black, read LT COL GOODWITCH. Ruby could not help but glance at the subdued yellow bars on her own shoulders.

"Lieutenant Rose, follow me." Goodwitch thumbed towards a nearby hangar. Her tone brooked no argument. Head down, Ruby followed her into the hangar. They made their way past two regional jets down for maintenance and into a corner office. After Goodwitch shut the door, the office was unpleasantly dark.

Goodwitch pointed to a metal chair, and Ruby sat quickly. She then faced the young lieutenant from across the room. Her voice was quiet. "You should know, Lieutenant, that Dawn Airlines Flight 7513 successfully landed here in Chicago just after we did. Its crew and cargo are safe."

"Oh…well…that's good," Ruby replied, after a long silence. Goodwitch evidently expected some answer.

"You should be commended for saving them. Roman Torchwick's gang usually release their captives after getting ransom, but they have been known to kill hostages on occasion. They're certainly known for shooting down anyone who doesn't comply and land at one of their outlaw fields."

"Well, thank you, ma'am—"

"What you _should_ have done was let us handle it!" Goodwitch shouted, nearly sending Ruby backwards out of her chair. "You're a ferry flight with _specific_ orders to fly from Signal to Beacon and nothing else! Why in the name of Zeus' balls were you even carrying missiles? And what happened to your drop tanks?" Before Ruby could answer, Goodwitch cut her off. "Let me guess. Punched them off before you engaged? Two drop tanks that the taxpayers paid for are now somewhere in the Ohio Dead Zone."

"Um, well, of course. You should never carry external tanks into a dogfight—my uncle Qrow taught me that like the first day and—"

"And the missiles?"

"Ma'am, with respect, the Dead Zones are dangerous and—"

"And you fluttered those big silver eyes of yours at the idiot who commands Signal and he said 'Load live AMRAAMs and Sidewinders!'"

"He felt that it would be good training—"

"And what if that had been a military flight you engaged? One of ours? The Navy still flies F-5s, you know. It could've been a training exercise! Instead you shot two of them down with ranged shots before you even had time to identify them!"

"They started it!" Ruby exclaimed. "They locked on me first—"

"Enough!" Goodwitch shouted, slamming her hands down on the table. "If it were up to me, you'd be sent home, with a pat on the back and my boot up your ass!" She subsided as she straightened up. "But, for reasons known only to him, someone wants to talk to you."

* * *

The office door opened to admit a rather tall man with gray hair, wearing the dress blues and four stripes of a US Navy captain. Ruby gaped for a moment, then shot to her feet, standing at rigid attention. Then she noticed three things in succession: the man walked with a cane, he carried a tray of cookies, and atop an impressive five rows of ribbons and below a set of golden wings was a single small, blue one with five stars. Her mouth went dry. _Medal of Honor._

"Ah, Lieutenant Ruby Rose." He set the cookies down. They were freshly baked chocolate chip ones, and the smell made her stomach audibly rumble. He peered closer at her over the rims of pince-nez glasses. "You have silver eyes."

Ruby had no idea how to answer that one. Her stomach growled again like a Sidewinder noticing a heat trail.

"Sit down, sit down," the man said. Ruby took her seat. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Captain Ozpin, the CO at Joint Base Beacon."

He smiled. "Very good." He leaned on the cane. "According to what Colonel Goodwitch here tells me, you splashed four bandits in less than two minutes, by yourself with no support. Not bad at all. Where did you learn to do that?"

"Signal." Ruby placed her hands over her stomach to quiet its growling.

"I wasn't aware Signal Air Force Base had opened a weapons school." He looked over to Goodwitch, and Ruby followed his gaze. On one of her shoulders was the crosshaired patch of the USAF Fighter Weapons School at Hill AFB, Utah, indicating she was a graduate. Ruby was still a year or two from even being considered for selection for the school. "Please, Lieutenant, help yourself to the cookies. The growling is getting worse."

Ruby tentatively tried a cookie. They were as good as they smelled. Taking Ozpin's smile as permission to continue, she began devouring them. He continued as she ate. "You fly an older ADF-model F-16, I noticed. I've only known a few other pilots capable of getting that much out of an older design." His smile turned wistful. "A dusty old crow…"

"Oh! Thampff mah uflncle Qforw!" Ozpin's smile broadened. Goodwitch rolled her eyes. Ruby choked down the four cookies in her mouth, then nodded vigorously. "I mean, that's my uncle Qrow, sir. He began training my sister and me when we were kids. He's assigned as an instructor at Signal. I mean, I was complete _shit_ before he took me under his wing, no pun intended, and…" Her voice trailed off as she realized she had just cursed in front of a superior officer. Two of them, in fact.

Ozpin laughed. "I see he did not teach you tact."

Ruby quieted. "No, sir," she said in a half-whisper.

"So what brings a girl like yourself to Beacon? According to your personnel file, you still have two years left on your tour at Signal."

"I want to be a Huntress. Sir," Ruby belatedly added.

"Ah. So you want to hunt monsters."

"Yes, sir." She looked at the now empty plate of cookies. "I know I'm not eligible for selection for Vytal Flag until I'm done at Signal. My sister just got chosen, however, and I wanted to see her. And Beacon. So Uncle Qrow and Major Oum got me a three-day pass and ferry orders. My sister's going to make it through the training, sir. She's going to become a Huntress. I want to as well, because I want to help others like my parents taught me, and I might as well make a career out of it." Her excitement bubbled. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with flying air defense missions over the East Coast Dead Zones and all, but the action's out west with the Hunters and Huntresses and they're just so damn _cool_ and exciting, and…" She trailed off again. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Don't be. Such enthusiasm is commendable." He half-sat on the table. "So, Lieutenant Ruby Rose, you want to come to my school?"

"Yes, sir. More than anything, sir."

"Well. Okay then." He stood. "I'll have the transfer orders ready by the time you reach Beacon." Ozpin ignored the sounds of rupture coming from Goodwitch. "You're a bit young for Vytal, but there's going to be no one else there with four kill marks on their aircraft. Ridding the Remnant of four air pirates is to be commended…even if your judgement is not. But we can work on that." He held out a hand. "Well, Lieutenant?"

Ruby's silver eyes were as big as platters. She practically leapt out of the chair, grasped Ozpin's hand with both of hers, and shook vigorously. "Oh, yes, sir! Yes, sir!" He pried his hand away from Ruby's before she hurt either one of them.

"Your aircraft should be fueled by now, so I will see you later today, perhaps. Dismissed, Lieutenant." She nearly saluted him, then remembered the regulation about saluting indoors, and instead crashed to attention with parade-ground precision, pivoted on one foot, and marched out the door. As it closed behind them, they could hear her running through the hangar, screaming "YES! YES! YES!" at the top of her lungs.

"I can't believe you just did that," Goodwitch said. Her expression was measuring Ozpin for a straitjacket.

"She's good, Glynda. Very good."

"She's also young, reckless, and stupid. My God, Ozpin, flying _alone_ into a dogfight, outnumbered five to one? That goes against everything we teach at Beacon—that goes against everything they teach in boot camp!" She shook her head. "Her Officer Evaluation Report says it all. She's a wild card. Flies by the seat of her pants. Completely unpredictable."

"She won, didn't she?"

Goodwitch glared at him. "Yes," she admitted after a moment.

Ozpin stared at the empty plate. "A girl with silver eyes," he mused. He looked at Goodwitch. "Tell me one thing. If you had to fly into battle…would you want her with you?"

"I don't know," Goodwitch replied quietly. "I just don't know."


	3. I'm So Excited

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Man, writing this is a breath of fresh air. I'm really enjoying it-hope you are too._

_I've tried to at least be somewhat accurate in military usage and such without being too technical. There's a lot of airplane pron in this; if that's not your bag, you can skip those parts. Technically, the Silent Eagle would not be out in 2001-the first one is still in experimental stage in 2019-but I'm pretty sure a story that will shortly involve Grimm shouldn't be too concerned with that level of accuracy. And yes, Weiss in this chapter is channeling her inner Asuka Langley-Soryu, while Ruby is acting like I do when at the Pima Air Museum or the National Museum of the USAF. Drool drool._

_And just to be clear, when Ruby talks about waxing someone's butt, that's fighter pilot talk for shooting them down (simulated or otherwise). You shippers have enough on your minds. ;)  
_

* * *

_Near Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_11 April 2001_

"Red One, Beacon Approach. You are number five for landing."

"Roger that, Beacon. Number five." Ruby Rose settled back in her seat. She was in a holding pattern over the southern rolling hills of Wisconsin. The dense trees below her were beginning to bloom and turn from dead brown to vibrant green. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and she allowed herself a moment of to enjoy it.

Ruby looked around the cockpit. Her right hand rested lightly on the stick; she knew that it was so responsive, the slightest of taps would cause the F-16 to go into a roll. Her left hand was on the throttle; with plenty of fuel, if she wanted to, she could slam the throttle forward, go into a climb, and keep accelerating until the sky around her turned such a deep blue it was nearly black. Her feet sat on the rudder pedals and she leaned back in a seat specifically designed for high-G combat. Her _Crescent Rose_ was as old as she was, 19 years, and theoretically outclassed by newer fighters like Goodwitch's F-22, but it was hers—on loan from the United States government, of course, but hers.

"Hey, Red One. Check six." The voice came through her helmet earphones.

Ruby instinctively twisted around in her seat. Sitting behind her F-16, less than a mile away, was a F-15, its nose lined up nicely with her tail. It could be one of a thousand USAF F-15s, but the yellow nose left no doubt who it was.

Ruby grinned beneath her mask. "Back off, Ember Lead, or I'll pop a flare in your face."

The laughter in her earphones was overridden by Beacon Approach telling Ember Lead that her spacing was off and she was too close to Red One. The F-15 backed off. "See you on the ground, Red One."

Ruby laughed. Trust her sister to find her in the middle of a holding pattern with four other fighters milling around. Ruby tightened her straps and pulled off some power, slowing the F-16 down. She was about to reply to Beacon Approach's call that she was now number four for landing when a new voice blasted across the airwaves. "Beacon Control, Crocea One! I'm declaring an emergency! I need a straight-in approach immediately! I say again, immediately!"

Beacon Approach was professional. "Roger that, Crocea. Milo One, land immediately and take the first available exit from the runway. Stormflower, Red One, Ember Lead, Myrtenaster, execute right turn; maintain spacing and pattern. Crocea, you are cleared for a straight-in approach. Winds are steady out of the east…"

Ruby turned her F-16 right, keeping an eye on the pattern. Behind her, about two miles back, was the F-15 and the speck of another aircraft. When the latter turned, Ruby noticed the angular lines of a Eurofighter Typhoon. Once she was in place and maintaining separation, she looked to the left to find Crocea One. It was a Mirage 2000, its mottled blue-gray camouflage stark against the brown trees. She didn't see fire or smoke, but Crocea was already flaring to land, with the landing gear cycling down. Ruby wondered what it was; like her own F-16, the Mirage was fly-by-wire, kept in the air by a system of microprocessors. If one went haywire, it could be real trouble. The pilot would not have declared an emergency unless something was wrong.

Ruby made a complete, gentle circle as she listened to Crocea One land successfully. Just like that, the emergency was over, and normal flight operations resumed. She wondered who Crocea One was.

* * *

Ruby taxied _Crescent Rose_ into its hardstand and shut down the engine. She opened the canopy as the ladder was set into place, and an enlisted man clambered up to help her unstrap. She climbed down, put her red helmet carefully into its bag, turned around, and was nearly tackled to the ground.

"I can't believe my baby sister is attending Vytal Flag with me!" Yang Xiao Long yelled, causing heads to turn. She squeezed. "This is the best day _ever!"_

"Gak," Ruby gasped. Her G-suit could protect her from nine times the force of gravity, but was no protection against an older sister.

Yang let go and stepped back. She was still wearing her helmet. Ruby got a full breath of air and looked at her. Yang took off the bright yellow helmet and cradled it in the crook of her arm, releasing a shock of sweat-plastered blonde hair. The tailored flight suit hugged her curves rather nicely; Ruby had always been envious of her older sister's figure. Certainly the ground crew spared her more than a few approving and appraising glances. Yang's grin was wide. "I heard on the way in. I'm so proud of you, sis."

"It was nothing."

"Like hell." She turned to the enlisted crew chief. "Sarge! When you get a chance, I want to see some kill marks on the intake there! My baby sis splashed four damn air pirates today, and I want the world to know! That's an order, Sarge!"

The crew chief took it in the spirit it was intended. "You got it, Captain!"

Yang mussed Ruby's russet hair. It was already sticking up at odd angles, but after Yang was done, it looked as if Ruby had been electrocuted. "I was wondering why you were flying around with empty pylons." She patted _Crescent Rose_'s nose affectionately. "Everyone's going to think you're the bee's knees."

On the short flight from O'Hare to Beacon, Ruby had sobered up from Ozpin's offer. She was going to be the youngest at Beacon, and as Ozpin had said, the only one with live kills as opposed to drones. That was going to get her a lot of respect…but it was also going to get her a lot of envy. Second Lieutenants with barely two years of flight time under their flight suit were not sent to Vytal Flag. There would be questions that she was not going to enjoy answering.

And as Ruby looked down the flightline, there were going to be a _lot_ of people.

"I don't want to be the bee's knees," she told her sister in a low voice. "I just want to be a normal girl, with normal knees. I don't want people to think I'm special."

"You _are_ special," Yang replied, then gave her sister a less rib-crushing hug. "You're my sister."

* * *

Ruby signed the form returning _Crescent Rose_ to the United States Air Force—so that if anything broke on the aircraft now, it wasn't her fault, as her uncle liked to say—and followed her sister down the flightline. They came to Yang's F-15 first. Ruby dropped her helmet bag in shock.

She had seen _Ember Celica_ before, but this was not the same Eagle she'd seen when Yang had visited Signal. It still sported the same dark gray camouflage, the same yellow nose and flaming heart symbol on both tails, but now the tails were angled outwards, and the intakes bulged far more than the normal F-15. "It's a…it's a…Silent Eagle…" Ruby breathed.

"Yup!" Yang confirmed happily. "I got the first one. Seems I made an impression at Red Flag last year." She slapped _Celica's_ nose. "This big bastard is now a flying missile battery. I can carry twelve AMRAAMs on this bad boy. Double ace in one pass, baby! _Celica_ will _eat_ a F-22, I don't care what anyone says." She began a lengthy introduction to the Silent Eagle's other capabilities, but then noticed that Ruby was no longer listening. She was looking up and down the ramp. "Ruby," Yang called. "Ruuuuuby. Earth to Ruby, are you receiving me?"

"Airplanes…so…many airplanes." Ruby pointed shakily. "Whoa, that's a J-10...there's that Mirage from earlier…I wonder where the Typhoon went…oh my _GOD!"_ she shouted. One of the mechanics underneath _Celica_ straightened up at her shout and cracked his head on the fuselage. Ruby's gasps of awe were drowned out by a spate of sulphurous cursing. Ruby grabbed Yang's arm and dragged her over. "Yang…Yang, is that a Tomcat?"

"Looks that way."

"Thought the Navy was getting rid of them. It's weird looking. Something different about it. And it's all black, which means it's experimental…wonder if it's from VX-4…"

Yang could see that Ruby was lost in aviation nirvana, so she gently pulled away from her sister. Down the flightline, someone waved, and Yang waved back. "Ruby, I'm going to leave you here to drool in peace. Go make some friends, huh? I'll see you at the welcome brief."

"Yeah…friends…sure." Ruby blinked, coming out of her trance. "Wait, Yang!" But her sister was gone, already running down the line. "But I don't need friends if I have you," Ruby said softly.

* * *

Ruby supposed she should be getting along as well. She did need to check in, find her billet on whatever dorm they were going to be staying at…would they even _have _dorms? Ruby picked up her helmet bag, and with one last look back at _Ember Celica,_ began to walk towards the hangars.

Or would have, if she had not stumbled over a pile of luggage. She screamed a bad word and fell backwards, going end over end over assorted bags and cases. Ruby ended up with her boots in the air.

"_Was im_ _fich?_" someone hissed, then there was a woman standing over Ruby. "_Was machen sie?"_

"I'm…I'm sorry," Ruby apologized, trying to find her feet. She used a case to at least sit up.

"Sorry?" the other woman shrilled in accented English. "You're sorry. Do you know what kind of damage you could have caused?" She began piling the luggage back into place. "_Schlimm genug, dass ich diese in Gepäckkapseln stopfen musste..."_

"Er…nichten sprechen Deutschen," Ruby said. She picked up the case and handed it to the other woman. Ruby noticed that she was wearing a grayish flight suit, but that was the least striking thing about her. Her hair, done up in a bun, was completely white, but she was not old in the least; probably only a few years older than Ruby herself. Pale blue eyes stared back at her, bright against skin so pale it verged on the translucent; the scar that cut across the left eye was all the more stark because of it. "I'm really sorry, ma'am." The German girl wore rank on her shoulders, but Ruby had no idea what it was; it was for certain that she outranked Ruby, though.

The woman snatched the case out of her hand. "Give me that." She snapped open the case to make sure nothing was damaged. Curious, Ruby came around to look into the case. It was filled with tiny cylinders. "What's that?" she asked.

The German girl's look could freeze a sun. "That is DUST."

"DUST?"

"Oh, for…_mein Gott._ DUST. Defense Utility System Technology. Advanced targeting systems. Defensive electronic countermeasures. These cylinders hold microchips. Ringing bells, _Second_ Leutnant?"

"Oh…right." Ruby had heard of DUST. It was being installed in all the new aircraft, and was revolutionizing air combat. Her poor little _Crescent Rose_ was at the bottom of the procurement list, if it was going to even be considered—the older F-16s might not be upgraded at all.

The other woman slammed the case shut nearly on Ruby's nose, and real dust flew into the air. Without warning, Ruby sneezed with such violence that it was the German who stumbled backwards, and tripped over her own luggage. The case went flying. Ruby tried to make a diving grab for it, but instead ended up on top of the German girl. Both of them screamed "NO!" in two different languages.

Luckily, the case didn't hit the ground with catastrophic results. It was caught in midair by a raven-haired pilot, who landed easily on her feet. As the German and Ruby untangled themselves and got to their feet, she handed the case to the German. "_Thank_ you," the latter said. She dusted herself off and spared a withering expression for Ruby. "Idiot. Now my flight suit is dirty."

Ruby had enough. Rank or no rank, there were only so many insults she could handle in one day. She would bet real money this Kraut bitch had never shot down anything but boyfriends. "I said I was sorry, _princess."_

"Heiress, actually," the black-haired pilot said. She turned to the German. "Oberleutnant Weiss Schnee, am I right? Heiress to Schnee GmbH, the manufacturer of DUST?"

Weiss smiled. "I am. It is nice to be recognized."

"And the same Schnee GmbH that got heavily fined last year by the European Union for questionable labor practices and censured for some rather controversial ties to certain organized crime families?" the pilot added.

Weiss' face went bright red. "How dare...that's a lie…we wouldn't…" She switched to a spate of confused German, then stomped off with her case, shouting at the ground personnel to bring her luggage posthaste.

Ruby watched her go, then looked at the black-haired pilot, only to find her walking away as well. Weirdly, there was a bow in her hair, which was distinctly nonregulation, even if it did blend in with her hair. "Hey, um, what's your name anyway?"

The pilot paused and looked over her shoulder. "Blake Belladonna. Lieutenant, US Marine Corps. _First_ Lieutenant." Then she kept walking, in the general direction of the black F-14.

"Ruby Rose! I'm Air Force!"

"Yeah, that was obvious," Belladonna called back. Ruby wasn't sure if she was being insulted or not.

* * *

Dejectedly, Ruby retrieved her helmet bag and spared a once-over for the Typhoon. Pale gray, German flag on the tail above a stylized snowflake, all Teutonic angles, as if the aircraft was going to swallow one whole for daring to come close to it. It was immaculate. The only nod to individuality was the name _Myrtenaster_ on the nose below the cockpit. Ruby resisted the urge to savagely kick the nose gear tire. "Stupid Typhoon," she muttered as she walked off, resuming her journey to the hangar. "Ugly piece of European crap. What the hell is a Myrtenaster anyway? Looks like someone kicked it in the nose and stomped its tail. Bet my Viper could beat it, DUST or no stupid DUST!"

Aside from the Blake Belladonna woman, who had disappeared, the flightline was nearly empty. Most of the pilots were streaming towards the hangars. There was one pilot just ahead of her, who looked just as downcast as she felt. She caught up to him mainly by accident rather than design. They glanced at each other. He was a good foot taller than her, with close-cropped blonde hair and a not-unattractive face. "Hi," she said tiredly.

"Hello." His English was accented, but differently from Weiss Schnee. _Thank God,_ Ruby thought, _I think I've had enough of Germany today._ "Jaune Arc." He stuck out a hand. "Lieutenant. Armee de l'Air."

"Ruby Rose. Second Lieutenant, US Air Force." They shook hands. "So, French?"

Jaune chuckled. "Yes." He thumbed towards the Mirage 2000 parked in a hardstand across the taxiway. "That one's mine. _Crocea Mors."_

"You were the one that declared an emergency. Everything okay?"

"Oh, that." Jaune blushed and scratched behind his head. "False alarm."

"Well, better safe than sorry. Sweet machine." She liked the Mirage's lines. It was graceful—not quite as streamlined as her F-16, but much more attractive than the damn Typhoon. _Hope I get to fly against Little Miss Princess,_ Ruby thought darkly. _I'm gonna wax her ass so damn hard._

"Thank you. What do you fly?" Jaune's words dispelled the bad mood. Like most fighter pilots, Ruby liked to talk about her airplane.

"Viper driver." Then Ruby realized that Jaune might not be familiar with the F-16's informal nickname. The USAF had officially named it Fighting Falcon, a name the fighter pilot community loathed. F-16 pilots dubbed their machine the Viper, which sounded menacing and sexy. "That's a—"

"—F-16. Yes, I know. We've trained against them in Europe." Jaune smiled, to show no offense. "Not to change the subject, but do you know where we're going?"

Ruby hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. "Actually, I was hoping you knew. I've never been here before." She shrugged. "Maybe there's a directory somewhere?"


	4. Friendship to Last

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Appeciate the feedback I've been getting. Please keep it up, and I'll do the same. Short chapter this time, but I'm staying on a schedule.  
_

_Though I explain it later, Pyrrha Nikos' rank (Episminagos) translates to Major, as in this world she actually is Greek. Similarly, since Weiss Schnee is actually German in this story, her rank (Oberleutnant) translates to 1st Lieutenant-though it is very close to Oberstleutnant, which is Lieutenant Colonel. Her name would also be pronounced Veiss._

_The Gunsmoke tournament is an air-to-ground gunnery competition that was a fairly big deal among the fighter community until it ended around 2001 or so; it was replaced by "Hawgsmoke," as Gunsmoke was dominated by A-10 Warthog units anyway. For Pyrrha to have won the Gunsmoke trophy is impressive, considering she doesn't fly an A-10. (Someone else from the RWBY cast does, though.)_

_Ruby refers to the English Electric Lightning. It's not a pretty airplane, though beauty is in the eye of the beholder._

_Finally, for you history buffs, the clue that Vytal Flag began in 1963 should be a big clue as to why this Remnant is our world. A certain thing happened in October of 1962...(for those of you who don't feel like looking that up, Professor Port will give a lecture on the subject in subsequent chapters)._

_Hangar One, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_11 April 2001_

After finding the food court (which was well-stocked), the base exchange (ditto), and the control tower (where the controllers told the pilots where to go, as usual), Jaune Arc and Ruby Rose finally found where they were supposed to check in—Hangar One, the largest on the base. Both of them mentally kicked themselves for not starting here first. Then again, Beacon was huge, easily the largest base either had been to.

The hangar was darkened, but Ruby saw Yang in the third row. Her sister spotted her around the same time, and waved. "Nice meeting you, Jaune!" Ruby said, shaking his hand. "See you around! Bon voyage!"

Jaune didn't have time to say much more than mutter a "Nice meeting you" before Ruby was gone. This was not shaping up to be the best of days. He went to find a seat. There were almost none; Ruby and Jaune were among the last pilots to arrive.

"Lieutenant? Are you looking for a seat?" The voice was high, slightly nasal, but in flawless French. Who it belonged to was equally flawless: tall, red-haired, and wearing the duty uniform of the Hellenic Air Force.

"Uh, yes. Yes, I am," Jaune answered, trying and somehow succeeding in not stepping on his words. He walked to the proferred seat. "Thank you, ah…Sminagos?" He motioned to the rank on her sleeves.

The girl laughed softly. "Episminagos. It's a bit of a mouthful. You can call me Pyrrha, Lieutenant. Pyrrha Nikos."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, taking a seat beside her. "I mean, yes, I know, ma'am. You won the Gunsmoke air-to-ground competition four years in a row. The Americans weren't too pleased about that!"

Pyrrha looked at her boots. "It's not that big of a deal. I was lucky. And please, just call me Pyrrha," she repeated. "I don't think ranks are going to mean much around here."

"Yes, ma'am. And that's not luck. That was skill." Jaune tried a grin. He got a shy smile back.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

* * *

"Saved you a seat," Yang told her sister. "Where the hell were you?"

Ruby decided on the truth; Yang tended to know when her little sister was lying. "We got lost."

"'We'? Oh, you mean the tall, blond and kind of scraggly guy?" Yang elbowed Ruby. "Man, you work fast."

"Stop it!" Ruby whined. "Today's turning to crap in a hurry. First you left me there—"

"—to drool all over airplanes—"

Ruby ignored that. "—and then I busted my butt when I tripped over some uppity bitch's luggage. Luggage! Who brings a cart full of luggage to an exercise! I brought my overnight bag! Anyway, this prim and proper Kraut starts giving me a ration of shit and she gets a little dust on her uniform and freaks the hell out and she flies a damn Typhoon, the ugliest piece of crap to come out of Europe since the Lightning and…" Ruby stopped and closed her eyes. "Oh, God. She's standing right behind me, isn't she?" Yang was biting her lip not to explode in laughter and could only nod.

Ruby blew out her breath and turned slowly to confront a glowering Weiss Schnee. She slammed a pamphlet into Ruby's chest as if she wanted to shove it through the younger girl. "Here." Ruby took the pamphlet. It read _DUST For Dummies and Other Inadequate Individuals: How to Use Defensive Utility System Technology and Not Die. _"Luckily for you, I had some printed in English before I left Germany. Now, then. Would you like to do me a favor?"

"Yes. Look, Oberstleutnant—"

"_Ober_leutnant." Weiss held up a finger. "My favor is simple and twofold. First, read this pamphlet."

"Er, okay."

"The second is to never speak to me again." Weiss whirled and stalked off.

Yang shook her head and snickered. "See? Told you you'd make friends."

"Go to hell." Ruby sat down, hard. Luckily, the chairs were US military issue metal, designed to take angry fighter pilot rear ends. Though it was something of a moot point, since Ruby's flight suit-clad derriere had barely touched the chair before an authoriative female voice shouted "Attention on deck! Commanding officer present!"

Thirty pilots shot to their feet and stood at attention. Captain Ozpin and Lieutenant Colonel Goodwitch walked onto the small dais at one end of the hangar; Ozpin, Ruby noticed, was still wearing his dress blue uniform, while Goodwitch had changed into the USAF dress blues. Flanking the dais were two aircraft, and Ruby wanted to kick herself for not noticing it before—or Weiss Schnee, for distracting her. The F-22 she recognized as Goodwitch's. The red-trimmed Albatros biplane was another matter.

"At ease, ladies and gentlemen," Ozpin instructed. His voice rang loud and clear through the hangar; he did not use a microphone. The pilots stood feet apart, hands behind their backs. "Welcome to Joint Base Beacon. For those of you who do not know me, I am Captain Ozpin. This is Lieutenant Colonel Goodwitch. We have the honor of commanding the program here: Vytal Flag.

"Vytal Flag was founded in 1963, over thirty-five years ago, after the Third World War nearly destroyed this country and the world. During that brief yet devastating war, the realization dawned on the surviving military of the West that our pilots had lost their dogfighting skills. Vytal Flag was founded to teach those skills again—not only to stand ready to defend our respective nations from foreign threats, but also those from the Dead Zones.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you represent the top one percent of all fighter pilots in the world. The elite. The best of the best. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and your skill. But you will learn that knowledge will only carry you so far. It is up to you to take that first step, to become better.

"You will fly at least three combat missions a week, possibly more, and attend classes in between, plus evaluations of your performance. Each sequence you will meet a different challenge. Each mission will become more difficult. And you will be tested under live conditions. You will fly your aircraft to the edge of the envelope—faster, harder than you have ever flown before, and more dangerous. You will be fighting each other in simulated combat, and other…targets…in _real_ combat." Ozpin smiled and pushed up his glasses. "Just remember that we are all, ultimately, on the same team."

Then the smile was gone. "Ladies and gentlemen, this school is about combat. There are no points. There is no trophy. You are playing the ultimate game, where the losers die and the winners only get the chance to play again. But if you survive, you will be able to fight anything in the world, and win."

Ozpin stepped back from the podium, to be replaced by Goodwitch. "Men and women are to be separated by gender and will sleep in the barracks tonight, regardless of rank. Get to know each other. Lights out at 2100 hours. Reveille is at 0500, breakfast to follow. Room and flight assignments will come after the formal welcome ceremony tomorrow at 0700. The uniform of the day will be flight suits. Be prepared to fly." She paused. "Dismissed. Please follow the sergeants at the door to your barracks assignments."


	5. Don't You Know What the Night Can Do

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am just blown away by all the people reading my fic. I hope I can continue to please._

_Only one minor note: "below the zone" is a military term for making rank earlier than usual. _

* * *

__

_Building 8113 (Female Enlisted Barracks), Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_11 April 2001_

Thirteen sleeping bags and air mattresses were spread out on the linoleum floor of the barracks bay. Normally, there would have been several rows of bunks, but to the pilots' chagrin, those had been cleared out. Moreover, they were not assigned officers' quarters, but were placed in an enlisted barracks. When one of them had asked Goodwitch why, the colonel had simply said to deal with it and shut the door. Clearly, Vytal Flag was starting off with a lesson about roughing it.

Still, Yang Xiao Long thought, it could be worse. The room was warm at least, and it felt like a big slumber party. Most of the pilots seemed to be getting along well enough, though she noted with wry amusement that Weiss Schnee had shifted her sleeping bag away from the others.

And tomorrow they would get to fly.

Since she had known she was coming to Beacon for quite awhile, Yang had packed a week's worth of clothes in a luggage pod carried under the fuselage of her F-15. Ruby, of course, had not known she was coming to Beacon, so she had stuffed only the basics in an overnight bag. Luckily, that included a pair of pajamas. Yang slid over to her sister. "Having fun?"

"I guess." Ruby shifted uncomfortably on the military-issue air mattress, which she was sure had a leak somewhere in it. She looked around the barracks bay. "Wish I knew more people here. They might not pair us up tomorrow, you know."

Yang shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not." Usually, in exercises, flight assignments were determined by nationality, for the simple reason that nations tended to build aircraft and train pilots according to their own doctrine. There were other Americans at Beacon besides Yang and Ruby, however. "But you might get her." She pointed at a girl with outlandish orange hair. "That's Nora Valkyrie. She flies a Hog."

Ruby sat up. "She pilots an A-10? What's she doing here?" She said it with the typical fighter pilot disbelief when speaking of close air support attack pilots. While all fighter pilots had great respect for the A-10 Thunderbolt II—which absolutely no one called the aircraft; it was the Warthog or Hog—it was no fighter, and fighter pilots believed that anyone who toted bombs for a living probably had mental issues. An F-15 like _Ember Celica_ would rarely be down in the weeds with an A-10, where everything up to and including a slingshot could hit them. Of course, Yang mused, maybe they would be doing low-level work. Enemies didn't always like to play around 20,000 feet like civilized people. Sometime they liked to stay low too. Down low, the A-10 owned a lot of advantages: it could actually turn inside most fighters at low level, and any fighter with an A-10 behind it needed to remember the latter's gun armament: a 30mm gatling cannon that could saw a tank in half. Yang shuddered to think what that thing could do to her beautiful F-15.

"Who knows? This place is weird…or haven't you noticed? That Ozpin character is something else. He tells us we're the best, then says we'll probably die. Getting mixed signals here." Yang grinned. "Though he let my baby sister in here below the zone, so he can't be all bad."

"Bleah." Ruby sank back onto her mattress.

"Having second thoughts?" Yang poked her playfully.

"Not about the training. It's just kind of hitting me that you're the only one here that I know."

"What about that Jaune guy? He seemed nice enough. There you go! Plus one friend."

Ruby rolled over onto her stomach. "Pretty sure Weiss counts as a negative friend," she murmured into her pillow. Ruby did not like feeling a fool, and Weiss Schnee was very good at making her feel that way.

"No such thing as negative friends. You made one friend and one enemy." Yang ignored Ruby's middle finger. "I know I'm number one, Ruby. Look around you! There's probably all kinds of friends."

The lights dimmed and then switched off. It was 2100 hours. "Then I'll meet them tomorrow," Ruby said, still into her pillow. It had been a long day, and she could feel fatigue tugging at her.

Though the bay was now dark and conversation died to a murmur, one corner of it was suddenly lit up. Yang looked over. One of the other pilots had set down her phone as a dim light and opened a book. "So much for lights out."

Ruby lifted her head. "Oh. That girl."

"You know her?"

"Not really. She was there when the Kraut Princess and I had our little scene. Her name's Blake something. She's a Marine."

Yang regarded the other woman. "Can't be. Marines can't read." Feeling mischievous—which for Yang meant that it was a day ending in y—she grabbed her sister's hand, hauled Ruby to her feet with a yelp, and dragged her across the bay. Yang practically flung Ruby at Blake's feet. "Hi!" Yang said. "I believe you two know each other."

Blake barely looked up from the book. Ruby noticed that the girl's eyes were yellow, which did nothing for her mood. Yellow eyes were definitely not normal, but neither were Marines. "Yes. She's Second Lieutenant Ruby Rose, United States Air Force." Her attention turned to Yang. "And I believe you're Yang Xiao Long, also Air Force. I've heard of you. You were the lead pilot on the Silent Eagle program." The voice was clipped, quiet, and vaguely irritated.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably. Ruby looked to Yang helplessly. Yang cleared her throat. "So, ah, what's your name?"

"Blake Belladonna." When Yang continued to stare at her, Blake added, "First Lieutenant, United States Marine Corps, assigned US Navy test squadron VX-4 at NAS Patuxent River, Maryland." She returned to her book. "I think that should about cover it."

Yang was not so easily dissuaded. "I like your bow." It was nonregulation, even for off-duty, but Yang regarded regulations as suggestions rather than rules. Her own hair was out of regulation.

Blake looked at both of them over the rim of the book with glacial coolness. "Thank you. It is lovely. Almost as lovely as this book." Neither Yang nor Ruby caught the inference. "That I will continue to read." Still no hint. "As soon as you leave."

Yang finally got the idea. "Oh well. We tried." She began to walk back to her bed.

"What's your book about?" Ruby asked. In the dim light, she could barely make out the title. There was no cover on the book.

"_The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"_ Blake answered. "I'm sure that the Air Force has heard of it."

"I love books," Ruby said, letting the interservice rivaly slide past. "Yang here used to read to me every night when we were kids. The good stories. Heroes killing monsters, that sort of thing. They're one of the reasons why I became a fighter pilot."

Blake chuckled. "Hoping you'll live happily ever after?"

"Hopefully we all will. But that's what we're here for, right? Protecting those that can't protect themselves? Fighting for what's right?"

Blake didn't meet Ruby's eyes. "This is real world, Lieutenant Rose. Not a fairy tale." She smiled, almost in spite of herself, and then did look at Ruby, and seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Still, I admire idealism when I see it. It's good to meet you."

"Thanks!" Ruby chirped.

"And if you're done with the Group Encounter," came the snarling voice of Weiss Schnee from across the room, "some of us would like to sleep!" There were scattered giggles at that.

"She's right," Ruby admitted, though it hurt to do so. "We really should get some sleep." They exchanged nods, and Yang and Ruby turned to go back to their beds.

"Captain Long?" Blake called out.

"Yeah?"

"Some Marines can read." Blake grinned at Yang over the top of her book. Yang grinned back.


	6. Brothers (And Sisters) in Arms

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Probably going to go more for a 3-day update schedule to build a little cushion into the story. School is starting soon, after all._

_In this chapter, we finally find out what the GRIMM are. And yes, that's capitalized for a reason._

* * *

__

_Officers' Mess, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

_Shangwei—_Captain—Lie Ren, of the Chinese Unified Air Force, looked across his cup of coffee at Nora Valkyrie. "Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

Nora swallowed so much of the pancake she was eating that Ren worried she might choke. Somehow she got it down. "I said, I hope we end up on the same team together!" She punctuated her sentence with a stentorian belch that rattled the silverware and caused heads to turn.

Ren took a sip of coffee. "I am not against the idea, but I don't see it happening. We fly very dissimilar aircraft—your A-10 and my J-10."

"They have the same number."

"I don't think that counts."

"But we make a good team!" Nora insisted, after slamming down half a glass of orange juice. "We proved that last year when my squadron visited China! You know—'you take the high road, I'll take the low road…'" She sang the last part, badly.

Ren shook his head, but smiled. It was true that they had ended up developing interesting tactics at Cope Thunder, the annual training exercise held in Asia. "Enemy" aircraft that dived away from Ren's J-10 had to keep one eye on Nora's lurking A-10 at low level, and a distracted enemy was a vulnerable one. When Nora's flight was assigned to hunt down helicopters, Ren's J-10 was used to vector them to their targets, as the A-10 lacked a radar, whereas the J-10 had a superb look-down suite. The two aircraft couldn't be more different, but then again, neither could their pilots. Ren tended to be quiet, whereas Nora was very boisterous. Somehow, they had hit it off, and had corresponded after Nora's unit returned to the United States. They were still just friends, though Ren knew Nora's interest went beyond friendship. He was not wholly against that idea, but that was for a later date, Ren mused, if ever. Long-distance relationships were troublesome at best.

That didn't stop Nora, however. "We should come up with some sort of plan, Ren! We need to make sure we end up in the same flight together." She rubbed her hands together. "We could bribe Captain Ozpin."

"I'm fairly certain that's a court-martial offense," Ren replied in amusement. _Surely she's not serious,_ he thought. _I hope._

"Only if we get caught."

* * *

Two tables away, Weiss Schnee and Pyrrha Nikos sat across from her. Weiss, Pyrrha noted, might be an heiress and an officer of the Luftwaffe, but she was through her third sausage and ate as if she might never eat again. Pyrrha reconsidered. It was entirely possible that this could be their last breakfast.

Once Weiss had killed the third sausage with a vengeance, she wiped her mouth and drank some coffee. "So, Pyrrha…" Weiss had discovered Pyrrha's fondness for first names quickly, along with the fact that the Greek pilot spoke fluent German. "Have you given any thought to flight assignments?"

"I'm not quite sure," Pyrrha answered. "My understanding is that Captain Ozpin or Colonel Goodwitch will be making that decision."

"Perhaps." Weiss sipped at her coffee. "Or they may be leaving it up to us. In that case, I think we would make a good team. My Typhoon, your F-16…"

Pyrrha considered it. "That does sound rather grand."

Weiss smiled broadly. "Wonderful! This will be perfect." Her moment of triumph was promptly ruined, however, as a tow-headed pilot in a beige flight suit sat down at their table. "Who the hell are you?" she muttered, half under her breath.

"Oh, hello, Jaune." Pyrrha greeted him happily, switching to French. She blushed, and tried to hide it behind her own coffee mug. "Have you met Oberleutnant Schnee?"

"Ah, not as of yet." Actually, Jaune had been admiring the German girl from across the mess hall for the better part of ten minutes. Though Pyrrha was certainly no slouch in the looks department, Weiss was like a dream. She had let down her hair partially from its bun this morning, and it framed an angelic face. At that moment, Jaune decided that Weiss Schnee had to be his. He decided to turn on the charm, or what he hoped passed for it. "Oberleutnant Schnee, I am Lieutenant Jaune Arc, Armee de l'Air." He took her hand and kissed it. It tasted faintly of strawberry body wash and sausage grease.

Weiss snapped her hand back as if Jaune was a snake. "Gah! Don't touch me, Lieutenant."

"My apologies!" Jaune kept speaking in French, correctly assuming that Weiss spoke it. It was a far gentler, romantic language than German. "So, I've been hearing rumors about flight assignments. I think we would make a good one. May I call you Weiss, ma'am?"

Weiss was about to inform Jaune exactly what he could call her, and where he could go while doing so, but Pyrrha stepped in. "The flights are actually made up of four, you know."

Jaune turned the charm meter up to eleven. "I certainly wouldn't mind if you joined us, Pyrrha." Pyrrha blushed again.

"Do you know who she is?" Weiss exclaimed. This was not at all going to plan. "You are in _no_ position to be in our flight."

"I know exactly who she is…" Jaune turned back to her "…snow angel." He smiled winningly. "I think Episminagos Nikos is onboard for Jaune Flight. Spots are filling up fast." Jaune hoped that Weiss would blush in the same comely matter that Pyrrha had. Weiss' face did turn red, but not from blushing. Jaune, in an epic misjudgement of signals, leaned in closer.

Pyrrha decided this had gone far enough; if Jaune got any closer, either Weiss would charge him with sexual harrassment or she'd simply demolish the overeager Frenchman. To save Jaune from himself, Pyrrha picked up a knife, carefully gauged the distance, and rammed it into the plastic table between Jaune's fingers, millimeters from cutting skin. It took a moment for him to notice, but when he did, he let out an oath and instantly backed away. Weiss took advantage of the distraction to snatch up her lunch tray and beat a hasty retreat. "Sorry!" Pyrrha said to Jaune as Weiss dragged her off.

Yang and Ruby walked by, carrying their empty trays. "Having some trouble there, killer?" She pried the knife out of the table and threw it on her tray.

"Father always said that women look for confidence." Jaune slumped. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Smothering the Oberleutnant wasn't the best move," Yang replied. "And if I got the French right, you called her 'snow angel'? Smooth." The sarcasm was piled high and deep.

"C'mon, Casanova," Ruby said, helping Jaune to his feet. "Let's go fly."

* * *

Vytal Flag Threat and Exercise Briefing Room A, despite its lengthy title, was just an auditorium, with stadium seating—upholstered seats more comfortable than steel chairs, with a nice cup holder for the fighter pilot's essential monogrammed coffee mug, or beer bottle if the occasion called for it. It was crowded with the same pilots from the hangar the day before, though this time Jaune ended up sitting with Ruby and Yang. Once more, they stood at attention as Ozpin and Goodwitch took the dais. Neither wore their dress uniforms today; both were in working uniforms, though neither in flight suits.

"Good morning," Ozpin addressed them after telling them to sit. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Hop One. You will be flying out to the Vale Air Defense Sector today, northwest of Beacon…over the Minnesota Dead Zone." He let the murmurs go on for a moment. "Your first mission here will not be a simulated one against friendly drones, computer-generated images, or each other. For those missions, we use the exercise area over Lake Superior. No, ladies and gentlemen, the Vale is real world."

The lights dimmed. Projected onto a large screen was a map of the area. To the south of them was a blue-bordered area marked RESTRICTED; that was the approach patterns for Chicago-O'Hare Airport, where obviously no one wanted fighters mixing it up between airliner flights. A similar box was over the city of Milwaukee to the southeast. Green bordered boxes showed the Lake Superior exercise area, which stretched over most of northern Wisconsin, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and the lake itself. It was beyond the Mississippi River that the pilots' eyes went to. It was marked in a blood red border that paralleled the river itself. Officially, there was a Notice to Airmen text box warning that flights were restricted to above 30,000 feet. Above the NOTAMS box was a hand-scrawled message: HERE BE MONSTERS.

Ozpin faced his audience. "You are all familiar with the GRIMM. Some of you here have fought them. Many of you know others who have." His eyes fell on Ruby for a moment. "And you probably know someone who was killed by them." He looked behind her. Ruby stole a glance out of the corner of an eye: Ozpin was looking at Lie Ren. His hands had clenched. Nora gently put one of her hands on his.

"Ground-launched Remote Independent Multimission Munition," Ozpin read. "GRIMM. I don't recall who came up with that acronym, but it fits. For those of you not aware of their history, they appeared shortly after the Third World War. Millions may have died in the nuclear exchange between the United States and the Soviet Union in October 1962, but millions more were killed by the GRIMM. Cities can be rebuilt, and would have been had it not been for these things.

"As you know, it is because of them, not just the radiation, that the West Coast and Northeast Corridor of the United States, Central Asia, Eastern Europe, and the entirety of what used to be European Russia are no longer habitable. We thought for years that they were organic—some sort of mutation caused by radiation. But we know now that they are mechanical. What controls them, if anything, is unknown. They appear at random and, despite their name, truly only have one mission: to kill." Ozpin smiled, though there was no humor in it. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is your mission today in Hop One: to kill _them._ A few dozen have been detected congregating near the ruins of the Twin Cities."

The ice in Ruby's stomach that had coalesced at the mention of GRIMM dissolved, to be replaced by excitement. _This will be the day!_ she thought. _No more small talk or get-to-know-yous. I'll let _Crescent Rose _do all the talking._

A hand went up from the back. Ozpin nodded to whoever it was; Ruby could not see them in the shadows. "Sir, what kind of GRIMM have been spotted?"

"The contact report was from a recon team near Shakopee. They reported Beowolves and possibly a Nevermore before they were forced to retreat."

Pyrrha raised her hand. "Captain, sir? Is there a risk to the team if we're operating in the area?"

Ozpin paused, and it was Goodwitch who answered. "The team is no longer an issue, Major Nikos." Pyrrha's hand went slowly back down as Goodwitch's tone and words sank in: there was no recon team left to worry about.

Ozpin continued into the silence. "Some of you—many of you have been wondering about the assignment of flights. Allow us to put an end to the confusion. You will be assigned to flights very soon, but you will be assigned wingmen today." Despite the fact that nearly half of the world's fighter pilots were female, the male term was still used out of habit. "Your assignments have already been made; you'll find out when you reach your hardstands. Your aircraft were moved during the night to the dispersal area; they are being loaded with weapons as we speak. Rest assured," Ozpin said, "that the wingman assignments were made with the utmost of care by Colonel Goodwitch and myself." He smiled, this time with notable amusement. "You will be paired with this wingman for the next six months, so I suggest you get to know them well." That brought more than a few comments and groans.

He nodded to Goodwitch, who took the podium. "The class will be divided roughly in thirds, to avoid fratricide over the operations area. Anything the first squadron leaves alive, the second squadron will clean up. The third will remain in reserve. I know this will disappoint those of you in the second and third squadrons, but rest assured—you will have more than enough opportunities to kill GRIMM here at Beacon." The map switched to a list.

_FIRST SQUADRON_

_Arc, Jaune (1__st__ Lieutenant, AdA)—Mirage 2000C_

_Belladonna, Blake (1__st__ Lieutenant, USMC)—F-14GS Tomcat _

_Long, Yang Xiao (Captain, USAF)—F-15SE Silent Eagle _

_Nikos, Pyrrha (Major, HAF)—F-16C Viper _

_Ren, Lie (Captain, CUAF)—J-10 Vigorous Dragon_

_Rose, Ruby (2__nd__ Lieutenant, USAF)—F-16A(ADF) Viper_

_Schnee, Weiss (1__st__ Lieutenant, Luftwaffe)—Typhoon _

_Valkyrie, Nora (1__st__ Lieutenant, USAF)—A-10A Warthog_

Ruby ignored the next slide, which showed the second squadron. She felt like cheering—she and her sister were in the same squadron! True, it was a one in eight chance they would be paired up, but that was better than a one in thirty. In any case, Nora was doing all the cheering necessary.

Once Goodwitch was done introducing the squadrons, she switched slides back to the map. "Mission parameters are as follows: each squadron will take off in sequence, with 1st Squadron taking off at 0830. 2nd Squadron will take off fifteen minutes later, and 3rd Squadron fifteen minutes after that. 1st Squadron will move immediately into the mission area, in pairs. To ensure the fewest amount of GRIMM escape, each pair will have at least ten miles separation as you make your sweep. Once you have reached the chop line—" she pointed at a line roughly centered on what had been St. Cloud—"you will return to Beacon. Under no circumstances will you proceed beyond this line, which represents bingo fuel. There is nothing beyond it.

"While we will have tanker support for refueling, the tankers will be for emergencies only. Divert fields are at La Crosse and Clear Lake. If you have to bail out, get as close as you can to the Mississippi River barrier zone. Anything beyond that, and you are beyond help. You will have to evade east to a safe pickup area." No one wanted to contemplate that: GRIMM could swat down high-performance fighters; individuals armed with pistols would represent little more than a slow target. Even the Army did not take on GRIMM without tank support. "Section lead assignments are up to you, once in the air. However, I must emphasize that the strongest and best leader may not necessarily be the one of highest rank. Some of you have more combat time than the others. Keep that in mind," said Goodwitch. "Even I will defer to a more experienced flight leader, even if I outrank them."

Goodwitch then went over radio frequencies, navigation presets, and other assorted information designed to keep live fighter pilots from becoming dead ones. Ruby wrote down the information on two notepads, then put both pads into clear pockets on the thighs of her flight suit; all she would need to do was glance down.  
Ozpin took the stand one last time. "Ladies and gentlemen, for years, you have trained to become fighter pilots—warriors. Today, you will be evaluated as such. The clock is ticking, and, as of now, we are keeping score. Good luck."

"And may the Force be with you," Yang whispered. Ruby smothered a laugh, but heard someone else let out a brief snicker. To her surprise, it was Blake Belladonna.

"All rise!" Goodwitch called out, and the pilots rose to their feet as Ozpin departed the dais. "Pilots!" For the first time, Ruby saw Glynda Goodwitch smile. "Man your planes."


	7. Danger Zone

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Time to get back in the air. Enough talk!_

_Regarding some concerns over if this is following canon: yes and no. I'm trying to keep the story close to RWBY canon, mainly so it doesn't go into pioneer mode and start wandering off (like what happened to my Evangelion fic *ahem*), but also trying to do some changes so it's not just regurgitating the original plot. It's tricky to write an AU without creating something entirely new and pasting the RWBY characters onto it, or blindly following Rooster Teeth._

_For the story itself: yes, fighter pilots really do carry that much in survival suits. What Ruby has on is a description of the standard USAF survival vest (with the possible exception of cookies). Yang wanting bigger knives and bigger guns is also accurate for some pilots; people who are interested can look up the story of "Hoser" Satrapa, who carried so many personal weapons that the gross weight of his F-8 Crusader was actually affected by it._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area Alpha, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

It was a beautiful day to fly, Ruby reflected happily. There were a few clouds, but nothing major; over the target area, the clouds would be scattered to broken. The temperature was crisp enough to wake one up, but not enough to be bitter.

It always amazed her just how much gear was required to fly a fighter. She wore her flight suit, a G-suit, a survival vest, combat boots, a lifejacket, and various hookup points for oxygen and radio. The survival vest was a marvel of minaturization: stuffed in all the pockets was a rubber survival map, concentrated rations (which for Ruby was a few chocolate chip cookies), survival radio, extra batteries for the survival radio, baby bottles for water, a water purification kit, a tourniquet which she fervently prayed she would never need, a complete but tiny first aid kit, and a wire saw.

Next to that was a survival knife. Ruby carried essentially a switchblade, which was what most pilots carried to save weight. Yang, however, preferred a Bowie knife, and Ruby was fairly certain she had seen Blake with a katana. And next to the knife was a pistol. Despite her love for weapons, Ruby contented herself with a 9mm pistol; once more, Yang felt the need for something bigger and carried a .357 revolver. Her tailored red helmet—specifically molded to Ruby's head, which contrary to Yang's insistence was not misshapen-was carried in her helmet bag. She walked with Yang, who had donned a pair of aviation sunglasses, with which no self-respecting pilot was complete without—though Ruby had forgotten hers back at Signal. Yang did not walk so much as she swaggered, with the self-assured confidence of the steely-eyed defender of democracy.

* * *

The dispersal area was divided into sections of two, so named because they were dispersed in case of enemy air attack; one pass would at best get only two aircraft on the ground. The dispersals were also staggered so all eight aircraft assigned to them could scramble within five minutes. Yang laughed with the sheer thrill of expectation when she saw the yellow nose of _Ember Celica_ poking out of the nose of the first revetment.

"Now what lucky son of a bitch got paired with me?" Yang announced, and she and Ruby hurried over to the next revetment. Ruby's heart sank. Sitting in it was not the gray nose of _Crescent Rose,_ but the black, hunched nose of the F-14 Tomcat. Blake was leaning against it, about to climb up to the cockpit. Yang shrugged. "Well, I guess that makes sense. Both big ol' air superiority planes. Sorry, Sis."

Ruby fought down the urge to cry, but sighed instead. She couldn't rely on Yang forever. At some point, she had to grow up. Besides, as she got closer to the F-14, her sorrow was replaced by curiosity. "Blake?" Ruby asked hesitantly. "Where's your backseater?" She looked around, but other than ground personnel, there was no other pilots in the revetment but Blake, herself, and Yang.

"Oh, that?" Blake motioned towards the canopy. "Don't have one."

"No, you don't," Yang breathed. She ran her gloved fingers over the black nose of the F-14. "Oh, I heard about this baby. Never thought I'd see it." Ruby was staring quizzically at her, so Yang playfully slapped her head. "C'mon, weapon nerd. This is the _Gambol Shroud."_

Ruby remembered. "No way…" They'd heard rumors of the Navy working on an updated version of the Tomcat. The original F-14 had been designed in the early 1970s, when the bulky radars of the time needed someone to run it, while a pilot concentrated on flying. Newer technology did not really need a dedicated radar officer, so the _Gambol Shroud_ was an attempt to eliminate the position to save weight. The intakes were slightly canted and dogtoothed in an effort to make it more stealthy, and Ruby noticed that the black paint wasn't for show: it was a version of the "ironball" radar-absorbent paint used by stealth aircraft. There were other rumors Ruby had heard as well, that the _Shroud_ had more than just superficial stealth. It was above her clearance, Ruby knew, and she also knew better than to ask. It was interesting that the Navy would hand over their F-14GS to a Marine pilot, but that meant that Blake Belladonna was that good.

"Guess we're wingmen. Or mates. Whatever." Yang stuck out a hand, and Blake, after a moment's hesitation, took it. "Can't wait to see what your _Shroud_ can do."

"Can't wait to see what your Silent Eagle can do," Blake returned. "See you up there."

"You bet." Yang motioned at Blake's hair bow, which was still perched atop her pinned-up hair. "Aren't you going to take that off?"

"What?" Blake realized what Yang was talking about and touched the bow. "Oh. Oh, uh, no. It's for good luck. It fits under my helmet."

"I gotcha." Yang tossed her a half-assed salute and began walking back to _Ember Celica._ Fighter pilots were weird creatures, and many of them were superstitious. Some refused to have their picture taken before they took off, others had to place a stick of gum in their mouth exactly when cleared to taxi, some carried rabbit's feet. "Ruby, you'd better get going before someone slips in your drool."

"Right, right." She began to walk away too, then called back. "Yang?"

"Yeah?"

"I…" Ruby looked at her boots. "Love you, Sis."

"Love you too." Yang waved, turned and ran for her aircraft. She did not want Ruby to see her cry.

* * *

Ruby made her way past the other revetments. She smiled when she saw Nora happily smothering Ren in a hug, as her A-10 was parked next to his J-10. She laughed when she saw Jaune and Pyrrha looking everywhere but each other, as his Mirage was next to her F-16; Ruby noted in passing that Pyrrha's aircraft was the newest mark of the F-16, the Block 52, with a much more powerful engine and radar. _No fair,_ she thought.

That thought was interrupted by an entirely new one: Yang was with Blake, Ren was with Nora, and Jaune was with Pyrrha. That meant…

"Oh God." Ruby saw _Crescent Rose_ and what it was parked next to.

"_Mein Gott._" Weiss Schnee had arrived at the same time. Her _Myrtenaster_ was actually not much bigger than _Crescent Rose,_ but it seemed bigger.

"This can't be happening," they said together, in two different languages.

* * *

_Upper Mississippi River Barrier_

_West of Black River Falls, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

Ruby Rose looked over at the Eurofighter Typhoon of Weiss Schnee. "It doesn't look any prettier in flight either." She'd read up on the Typhoon, of course, being the aircraft enthusiast that she was, and knew the Typhoon had earned a good reputation. It still seemed like an aircraft designed by committee, with a blocky intake mated to a smooth body, big delta wings, and canards beneath the cockpit that looked like afterthoughts. She noticed the six small sensors clustered under the nose. _That must be that DUST_ _system Snow Angel over there is so proud of. Wonder if it even works. Guess I should've read that pamphlet last night._

After taking off from Beacon, Weiss had taken the lead without asking, leaving Ruby to follow. Grumbling to herself, she slid into the correct position behind and to the right of the Typhoon. Ruby supposed Weiss had the right because she outranked Ruby, but it was still mean. She let the F-16 drop a little down to check what ordnance Weiss was carrying. _Let's see…four AMRAAMs, and four…what the hell are those? Oh, those are IRIS-Ts, that new German missile. Figures Ice Princess would have access to them through her daddy, or mommy, or whoever runs Schnee Gummy or whatever it was that Blake called it yesterday. And two drop tanks. Well, at least she's loaded for GRIMM. _

Ruby slid back into formation and once more checked her own loadout. Two Sidewinders hung on her wingtips, along with two AMRAAMs of her own, and two external drop tanks. She didn't even have half of what Weiss' Typhoon carried. _But I'm cuter,_ she smiled to herself. _So I got that going for me._

They reached the Mississippi River soon enough, twenty thousand feet below them. Even from this height, they could see the fortifications along the eastern bank, designed to keep marauding GRIMM out of Wisconsin. There was a lot of ground to cover, however, and inevitably GRIMM would slip through the gaps in the line. The first line of defense were fighters. Missions like this one were designed to sweep through the Dead Zones and stir up trouble. GRIMM could not be wiped out—the nations of the world had been trying for forty years—so the best that could be done was to thin them out or drive them off. Relatively short-ranged sweeps were common enough, but only the very best pilots, mated to the very best aircraft, would be sent on the deeper sweeps into country that was truly infested. That was what Ruby wanted more than anything, because only Hunters and Huntresses were assigned to those kind of missions.

"Weiss, Ruby, Pinetree." The voice belonged to a ground controller somewhere in the forests below. To avoid confusion, the pilots were using their first names; it was not like GRIMM cared much for codes. "Your signal is Twilight, I say again, Twilight."

"Pinetree, Weiss. Roger. Check in, Ruby."

Ruby sighed. "Ruby."

"Thank you," Weiss radioed back, dripping with sarcasm. "Let's go." The Typhoon accelerated, and Ruby moved her throttle forward to keep up. She knew the other aircraft was faster than her F-16; it could break the speed of sound without even using its afterburner, and reach Mach 2 without much trouble. _Crescent Rose_ could reach Mach 2 only in a dive. The Mississippi slid past in moments, and they were truly in monster country.

Weiss was now more than two miles ahead of Ruby. "Weiss, Ruby. I'm in trail, two miles. What's the hurry?"

"I will not this mission be delayed because you're too slow! I swear that if I get a bad mission grade because you're too slow—" Weiss ducked out of instinct as the F-16 rocketed past the Typhoon. Ruby had had enough. She slowed down long enough for Weiss to catch up. "I'm not slow, Weiss," Ruby told her. "Just because I'm not good at dealing with people doesn't mean I'm not good at dealing with monsters." She took up position on Weiss' right wing and looked over at the German girl. "You're about to see a whole different side of me today. You're going to be all like, 'Wow, that Ruby girl is totally awesome and I will be her wingperson any day!'"

Weiss stared at her over her oxygen mask. Ruby noticed her helmet was pale blue and decorated with snowflakes. "Bullshit," she said. After a pause, Weiss pointed down. "Okay, Little Red, let's see you prove it. Get down to about angels five and see what you can stir up. I'll drop down to ten thousand. Keep your nose cold and I'll see what my DUST can see."

"Roger. Nose cold." That meant to keep her radar off; GRIMM, somehow, carried their own radar detection sensors and could pick up radars scanning for them. For fighter pilots, switching on a radar was like turning on a flashlight in a dark room: they could see things, but the enemy could also see them. Just to put a punctuation mark on the sentence, Ruby snap-rolled into a dive and was gone from Weiss' sight.

* * *

"_Dummkopf,"_ Weiss sighed as she began her descent. She wondered if she had angered someone at Beacon, someone in the Luftwaffe, or God Himself to be paired with the weakest of the Vytel Flag participants. _Second weakest, _she corrected herself. There was still that Jaune freak. _You'd think a Frenchman would know not to mess with a German._ Putting that out of her mind, she leveled off at ten thousand feet, reached forward and switched on her DUST equipment, then pulled down the visor on her helmet. DUST was designed specifically for fighting GRIMM, able to react faster than a human could. Unlike Ruby, who would have to center her targets in the reticle on her Heads-Up Display, Weiss only had to look at her target and press the trigger: the missile would already be looking in the direction she was.

Almost as soon as Weiss switched it on, alarms went off. Her eyes immediately went to the threat display in the HUD. Six cones appeared behind her: someone—or some_thing_—was locked onto her. A half dozen somethings. Her hands reacted before her brain completely processed the information. First, she slammed the throttle forward to accelerate. Even as Weiss did that, her index fingers were triggering the chaff dispensers beneath her Typhoon, to throw off her pursuit. She counted two seconds, then snapped upwards into a climb, with a half-roll at the top. Now she was facing her foes.

There were six of them. _Beowolves,_ Weiss thought without fear.

Beowolves were the weakest of GRIMM—at least, that Weiss knew of. They were small, half the size of a F-16, single-engined, with only a small cannon in their blunt nose and two hardpoints for missiles under their straight wings. While extremely maneuverable, they could only take a single hit, and their onboard computers were easily confused. Individually, a Beowolf was little threat, but they traveled in packs, and a pilot in Weiss' situation would find themselves pulled apart as they were attacked from several directions—as a wolf pack would bring down a bigger deer.

Unless, of course, the pilot was Weiss Schnee, and flying a Eurofighter Typhoon equipped with DUST.

A warning shrilled in her helmet as one of the Beowolves fired a missile at her, but she instantly knew that the parameters off. She popped a flare just in case, but the missile went wide. She looked at the offender. Her helmet sight instantly fed her the target information—range 25 kilometers, target speed 450 kilometers an hour, closing speed almost 600 kph—and Weiss pulled the trigger. Even as one AMRAAM dropped from _Myrtenaster's_ fuselage, DUST was already feeding the other three AMRAAMs targeting information on three more targets and offering Weiss' helmet sight the one with the best kill probability.

The Beowolf abruptly exploded. Weiss blinked, saw that her missile was still heading towards the target, but then saw Ruby's F-16 come out from under her nose, accelerating towards the fireball. DUST marked the friendly target with a blue triangle, but the AMRAAM merely saw another target and locked on. "_Mein Gott!"_ Weiss screamed. "Ruby, buddy spike! _Buddy spike! Break left, break left!"_

Ruby's right hand moved instantly, sending _Crescent Rose_ into a hard left turn. Fear gave the turn added impetus—buddy spike meant that Weiss was seconds from shooting her down by accident. Fate stepped in, however: the AMRAAM, thrown off by Ruby's sudden break, tried to reacquire first her F-16, then another Beowolf, then simply engaged neither and flew off in the general direction of Wisconsin. That was suddenly the least of either woman's problems, however: Ruby's break also put her F-16 squarely in the path of Weiss' Typhoon.

Weiss filled the air with blistering German oaths, which freely translated, claimed that Ruby's parents were never married and that Ruby harbored sexual desire for her own mother. She made a hard break right, felt the Typhoon bounce through the jetwash from the F-16, nearly collided with another Beowolf, and finally was clear. Ruby, for her part, dived away and then climbed, throwing off yet another GRIMM that was trying to lock onto her. "Ruby, knock it off, knock it off! Reform at angels thirty!" Weiss ordered. Above twenty-five thousand feet, the Beowolves, for unknown reasons, never ventured.

They joined up and orbited over the pack of Beowolves, which were confronted with an empty sky and flew off to the west. "I could have killed you!" Weiss shouted at Ruby.

"You'd have to try harder than that!" Ruby screamed back. Deep down, Ruby knew she was in the wrong—she had seen the Beowolves rise up from the forest and try to ambush Weiss from behind, and her first instinct was to climb and engage, to break up the Beowolves' attack before they shot Weiss down, and had shot down the first Beowolf with a missile shot. She had not even noticed that the other pilot had turned around and engaged herself. Ruby let go of the throttle and stick for a moment. Her gloved hands were shaking. A second, a half-second slower, and Weiss' AMRAAM would have blown her F-16 out of the sky. Her anger was more directed at herself than the German.

"Were you born stupid or does the US Air Force give special training?" Weiss ranted. The Typhoon snapped over on one wing and headed west. "Fall into trail, Ruby, and try not to shoot me down."


	8. Dragon Rider

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: More dogfight action! Have fun. And if you like it (or don't), leave a review._

_North of the Ruins of Minneapolis-St. Paul_

_Vale Air Defense Sector, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

Yang Xiao Long was bored.

Most people in her position would not be. She was, after all, flying a high-performance fighter, and a rather unique one at that. She was also flying over an area that was still irradiated; the Soviet nuclear missile that had destroyed the Twin Cities had been laced with strontium-90. The forests below her had recovered, but people still feared to venture into the immediate fallout pattern, even forty years later. And then there was also the little matter of the place being infested with GRIMM—which she was hunting, and were surely hunting her.

But Yang was still bored.

She was also somewhat alone at the moment. After taking off from Beacon, she and Blake had decided to use the "eyeball-shooter" formation: Yang would go ahead with her radar on, scanning the skies and ground for GRIMM. Blake would hang back, using the _Gambol Shroud's_ stealthiness and leaving her radar off. Once Yang identified any targets, Blake could support Yang, or do what the F-14 did best: long-range combat. Underneath Blake's Tomcat were slung two AIM-54 Phoenixes, with a range of over a hundred miles and a warhead that could destroy almost any GRIMM. Yang found herself liking the laconic Marine: there had been no arguing over flight lead; Blake simply recognized Yang's aggressiveness and let her have the lead position.

Still, Yang thought to herself, as her eyes automatically quartered the skies for threats, she would have felt better with Ruby out there on her wing. The F-15 and F-16 were designed to work together, and Yang, despite knowing that her sister was more than capable, still wanted to defend Ruby. In any case, she didn't trust Weiss. The German girl was too selfish, too willing to pull rank.

_Ember Celica_ wasn't yet equipped with DUST, but its advanced radar was more than capable of picking up threats. Her radar warning receiver picked up two hits: something below was looking at her. There should be nothing down there: Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren were to the south. It had to be enemy. "Blake, this is Yang. Two bandits at ten miles, at my twelve o'clock." A moment later, she saw them. "Tally-ho! Bandits are two Ursai; am engaging." Yang dropped _Ember Celica's_ nose. "Yang, Fox Three!"

An AMRAAM shot from one of the F-15's underwing hardpoints and locked onto one of the Ursai. Now Yang could see them; they were hard to miss once they broke cover. Ursai were the bigger, nastier cousins of Beowolves: they shared the same blunt nose and straight wings, but were faster and carried more weapons, including a nasty heavy nose cannon. They were nowhere near as maneuverable, but they could also take a beating: Ursa could shrug off a single Sidewinder hit, and even survive an AMRAAM.

The missile tracked into the first Ursa and exploded. It came out of the explosion, wobbly but still intact. Yang saw the other Ursa split to the right to flank her. It was the bigger threat at the moment, so she turned into it and fired another AMRAAM. At the same time, the Ursa fired two missiles back. The world had yet to figure out exactly what missile technology GRIMM used, but they did know that it could be defeated. Yang rolled and dived into a split-S to break the Ursa's lock as her own missile impacted. The two enemy missiles shot well wide, and Yang threw in a roll at the bottom of her dive to get back on course. She pushed the throttle forward and used the kinetic energy picked up in the dive to climb. Another Ursai missile shot over her head. She laughed. "You guys couldn't hit the broadside of a bar—"

_Ember Celica_ rocked with a hit. Yang's eyes immediately went to her instrument panel, but no fire lights came on, nor any other warning lights. Still, she had been hit somewhere, by something.

And that _really_ pissed Yang Xiao Long off.

The climb had carried her above the Ursai, and she could see one of them trailing smoke. Teeth bared beneath her mask, Yang rolled in upside down, her fingers switching from missiles to guns. The more logical side of Yang warned that this was not the wisest course of action: she could simply stand off and loft AMRAAMs into the Ursai until they went down. The emotional side told the logical side to shut the hell up: _Ember Celica_ had been hit, and for that, she was going to put blood on the walls. A missile shot was too impersonal, and a gun pass was far more satisfying. The Ursa tried to turn, but it was too damaged, and Yang easily rolled in behind it. She pulled the trigger. The 20mm Vulcan gatling cannon nestled in her right wingroot spit shells at a hundred rounds a second. The Ursa rocked under the impact of the shells, and Yang tracked them into the GRIMM's head. Flames leapt backwards and the Ursa fell into a dive that terminated in the forest far below.

Her RWR warbled for her attention: the remaining Ursa was now behind her. Yang slammed the stick into her right knee and stomped the right rudder pedal, racking the F-15 into a hard turn that pushed her into her seat, caused the G-suit to grab and squeeze, and caused vortices to stream from her wingtips. She was now head-to-head with the Ursa. "You want some of this too, fucker?" Yang shouted. "Come and get—"

Two missile trails came from the left side and the Ursa vanished in an explosion. Yang climbed over what little remains fell out of the fireball, and looked to her left. _Gambol Shroud,_ wings spread to slow down, joined up with her. "Yang, Blake. Are you all right?"

Yang smiled. "Yeah, I'm good. I could've taken him."

"No doubt." Yang could hear Blake's smile through the radio.

"Might want to let me know when you fire a missile, though."

"I did. Didn't you hear it?"

Yang considered. She'd been so angry that she might not have heard Blake's Fox call. Then she remembered the hit she'd felt. "Actually, Blake, if you don't mind, could you give me a once over? I think one of those Ursa might have gotten lucky."

"Sure." Yang held course while Blake dropped back. She slowed and looked over the underside of _Ember Celica._ "Engines look fine." She looked closer. "I see it. You've got a small hole in the right wingtip. Doesn't appear to be serious." Blake came up on Yang's right. "Everything else looks fine. Is she handling all right?"

"Roger that. No prob." Yang waved towards her. "Charlie Mike. Let's see what else is sneaking around out here. You want the lead for awhile?"

"Don't mind if I do. Blake has the lead." The F-14 moved out in front.

"Yang to Pinetree. Splash two Ursa."

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos smiled to herself at Yang's radio call. "It seems our comrades have encountered the enemy." She looked over at Jaune. Whereas Blake and Yang were using the eyeball/shooter tactic, Pyrrha opted for keeping Jaune as close as possible. On whatever kind of radar the GRIMM used, her F-16 and Jaune's Mirage would appear as a single blip. With any luck, the GRIMM would go after a lone target, only to find themselves engaged with two opponents.

It also kept Jaune within visual range. Pyrrha noticed that he kept either straying too far out, which would make the entire close formation a moot point, or getting too close and risking a midair collision. _There is something not right about him._ Pyrrha checked her radar suite—unlike Ruby's older F-16A, her F-16C had a radar every bit as good as Yang's and Weiss' aircraft—saw that it was clear, and came to a decision. "Jaune, this is Pyrrha. Push freq three, go secure." This moved them from the overall radio net that everyone could hear to a discrete frequency that only the two shared. "Jaune, how do I read?"

"Five-square, Pyrrha. What is it?"

Another glance at the radar, then a visual scan. "Jaune, you've never been in combat before, have you?"

There was a pause. "No."

"I'm sorry to ask. How many hours do you have on the Mirage?"

Another pause. "Er…simulated or real?"

"Real."

"Ah…about seventy-five hours. Including this mission."

Pyrrha blinked. _My God,_ she thought, _he's green as grass. He shouldn't be up here. He shouldn't even be assigned to Vytal Flag! The French are not that desperate for pilots. _"Did you fly other aircraft before this?"

"Huh? Oh, yes! I, uh, flew the Rafale."

"Ah! I'm sorry." That made more sense. The Rafale was the top of the line, brand new French fighter, of the same generation as Weiss' Typhoon and Yang's Silent Eagle. _Perhaps he angered someone in the Armee de l'Air, or perhaps the French are not willing to let their Rafales over here just yet. _She knew that the French were experimenting with their own version of the _Gambol Shroud._ That did not help the immediate situation, however. Though in theory a pilot could fly any aircraft, as the basics were the same, there were differences in performance that could be lethal, to say nothing of cockpit layout. Even if she were in Ruby's _Crescent Rose,_ Pyrrha knew there were significant changes between the two models of F-16s. "Jaune, I have some combat time in Mirage 2000s. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Pyrrha."

"Combat spread. Push freq one." Jaune shifted to a position well off her right wing, still within visual; it ended their attempt to appear as one radar return, but it was a more flexible formation. Jaune could concentrate on combat rather than just trying to stay with Pyrrha. They returned to the squadron radio net.

"Pinetree, Ren. Splash one Taijitu."

"Well." Pyrrha looked over at Jaune. "It appears our friends are having all the fun. Shall we head north and join up?"

"Pyrrha has the lead," Jaune radioed back.


	9. United We Stand

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm trying to keep to a three-day update schedule, but what the heck...this was a lot of fun to write. A nice long fight chapter! A few things to note:_

_Ruby being able to see stars in daytime isn't some sort of supernatural power: there have been fighter pilots (including aces Saburo Sakai and George "Screwball" Beurling) who could actually see stars during the day-their eyesight was that good. Is it because of Ruby's silver eyes? Maybe, but having good eyesight is one of the things all fighter aces not named Max Sterling must have.  
_

_Nora gets to shine in this chapter. When she's thrown forward firing the A-10's main armament, that's accurate: A-10 pilots actually can't just hold the trigger down and empty their giant ammunition magazine: the recoil of the GAU-8 will stall the aircraft if the burst is too long. Of course, most things on this planet usually don't survive even a short burst from an A-10._

_There's a Star Wars reference in here that's fairly obscure. The part where Blake's F-14 hits the jetwash is sort of a Top Gun reference, except that Blake's piloting a modified (heavily modified!) F-14D, which had much better engines than the F-14A Maverick and Goose were in. Sorry, Adam Taunus, you're going to have to figure out a different way to kill the Gambol Shroud..._

* * *

_Near the Ruins of Mankato_

_Vale Air Defense Sector, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

"I don't believe this," Ruby Rose said to herself. "We have GPS, inertial navigation systems, and a friggin' map programmed into our planes, and we're lost."

Obediently, she had followed Weiss across a good portion of what used to be southern Minnesota. For ten minutes her vision had been limited to the twin tailpipes of Weiss' Typhoon. Below them the forests and plains had disappeared under a thin undercast—not enough to worry about as far as bad weather went, but enough to hide ground features. A light came on her instrument panel: her external fuel tanks were dry. Ruby leaned forward and switched to internal fuel, and was about to drop the tanks when she remembered Goodwitch's words on that subject. She drew back. _If we get into another dogfight, I'm dropping the damn things, and Glynda Goodwitch can kiss my ruby rosy red butt._

Finally Ruby could take no more. They had to be getting close to the chop line. "Weiss, this is Ruby. Where are you taking us?"

"Ruby, Weiss. I am taking us to the Twin Cities. Which you would know if you would just follow me and keep quiet." Ruby sighed, with the microphone button down, and Weiss snapped, "Oh, stop it! You don't know where we are either!"

"Either?" Ruby asked, trying to keep the I-told-you-so smirk out of her voice and failing miserably.

Weiss cursed under her breath. "Fine. We are indeed lost." She wanted to kick her instrument panel. The Typhoon was equipped with a top-of-the-line navigation suite, but the DUST system occasionally interfered with it. Weiss had suspected so for the last five minutes, but was not about to admit it to 2nd Lieutenant Ruby Rose that Schnee GmbH equipment might be flawed.

The solution was simple enough: more than likely they were headed west. A easy 180 degree turn, and they would be back on track east, towards the Mississippi. But that would use fuel, and every minute used getting back on course was a minute they were not finding GRIMM to shoot down. Weiss was not about to return to Beacon without a kill. That was assuming they were headed west and had not drifted off course.

Weiss punched the side of her cockpit in frustration. "Ruby, Weiss. We'll have to use your nav system. Mine is inop."

To her credit, Ruby did not gloat. "Roger that, Weiss. Let me have the lead." Weiss acknowledged, and the F-16 moved past her Typhoon. Ruby led them on a gentle curve to the right. "Okay, on course to the Twin Cities. My nav is good, and as long as we keep the North Star on the left quarter, we'll be fine."

"It's daytime, Ruby."

"And? I can see it."

The German girl snorted derisively. "Oh, I am sure."

"I can!"

Weiss rolled her eyes. Just to prove a point, she strained to see a star through the blue sky. She didn't see it, but caught movement out of the corner of her eye. "Ruby. Bandit, ten o'clock low."

Ruby dipped her left wing and looked down. "Whoa. That's a Nevermore."

If Beowolves and Ursai were the fighters of the GRIMM, the Nevermore was the heavy bomber. It was all-wing, except for its split tail and the barest hump of a nose. Because of its shape—and other technology humanity had yet to discover—it was very hard to lock onto. It was not maneuverable, but it was also very tough and surprisingly fast for its size. Often entire flights had to be dispatched to destroy Nevermore. When it reached settlements, the array of turrets on its belly would rake the ground, firing kinetic energy rounds that were faster and hit harder than bullets. A similar array of turrets dotted its uppersurface. Far more than other GRIMM, Nevermore tended to be singleminded, inexorably heading for whatever target it was aimed at until it was destroyed. This one was headed northeast.

"Weiss, I have an idea," Ruby radioed.

"Oh God."

"Listen, dammit! Let's trail it and see where it's going. We'll keep our noses cold. It doesn't detect us yet. Maybe we can ambush it."

"We're not powerful enough to take on a Nevermore—" At that moment, a shrill tone erupted in Weiss' earphones. One look at her radar warning readout told why. "Ruby, I'm spiked!"

"Me too!" Ruby did three things very quickly: she punched off her drop tanks, she pushed the throttle up, and she dived through the undercast. As Weiss saw the turrets of the Nevermore iris open and point in her direction, she followed.

* * *

"Pyrrha, Jaune. I'm picking up a large radar return."

Pyrrha looked at her radar display. "I'm not getting anything."

"Sorry. Ground contact."

Pyrrha switched her radar to air-to-ground. There was a bright bloom ahead of them. "That's strange." They were flying at 15,000 feet, where GRIMM liked to operate. So far, they had gotten nothing. On the horizon, Pyrrha saw the ruins of the Twin Cities, but the radar contact was much closer.

"I'll check it out," Jaune volunteered. "Jaune has the lead." Pyrrha dropped back, although her F-16 was actually the better choice for air-to-ground scanning. She watched the Mirage drop down to around five thousand feet. On the radar, Pyrrha could tell he had passed the target. "Pyrrha, Jaune. No joy. Nothing there. I think it's an old, abandoned refinery—"

The Death Stalker erupted from the rusting ruins of the refinery and spit fire at the Mirage.

* * *

Yang winced and shouted into the open radio net. "Whichever little girl is screaming over Channel One, knock it off!" She and Blake had passed the ruins of the Twin Cities a moment later and were heading south in a combat spread. Then she saw Jaune's Mirage climbing hard, spinning, as tracers split the air around him. "Whoa! Blake, there's a lot of fire at eleven o'clock low." There was no answer. "Blake?"

"Yang, is that your sister at two o'clock high?" Blake asked.

Yang's head whirled. A red-trimmed F-16 shot through the undercast, followed by a Typhoon that nearly collided with the Mirage. As Weiss shouted for Jaune to get out of the way, Ruby's call overrode her. "Heads up! Nevermore at my six o'clock high!"

"Ground contact at grid square 82913." Pyrrha waited for Ruby to finish, then called out her own report. "Classify contact as Death Stalker."

An explosion on the ground to the east caught everyone's attention. "Woo-hoo!" called out Nora Valkyrie with a laugh. "Nora and Ren, splash one Ursa at grid square 82914!"

The Death Stalker emerged from the refinery. The Nevermore came out of the clouds. Yang could see Nora's A-10 and Ren's J-10 approaching from the east. "Great! The gang's all here," she deadpanned. Her eyes switched from the Nevermore to the Death Stalker. "Hopefully so we don't all die together..."

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos saw the Death Stalker crawl out of the refinery, and for a moment, could do nothing but stare in horror. Whereas most GRIMM were airborne threats, the Death Stalker was only technically aerial—it floated on massive jet engines like a hovercraft, but could not clear the ground more than fifty feet, as it was so heavy. It was heavy because the Death Stalker was a massive drone, well-armored, and exceptionally well armed: two turrets sat on either side of its scorpion-like head, each armed with gatling cannons, while a third turret, armed with a battery of radar-guided missiles, sat to the rear. While the two forward turrets could only engage in the front and side quarters, the third was omnidirectional. Jaune's survival when it opened fire was more luck than skill. Pyrrha's mouth was dry with fear.

"First Squadron, this is Yang! Buster east! We can't take on both of those!"

Her training then reasserted herself, but it was Jaune, now leveling off well to the west, that spoke her thoughts. "Jaune to First Squadron! We've got to lead them north! If we head east, they'll follow us across the river!"

Pyrrha fought down her fear. She was the highest-ranking person on site; she needed to take command. "First Squadron, Pyrrha. Jaune's right. Extend north; we'll try to engage over the Twin Cities." She quickly switched frequencies. "Pinetree, Pyrrha. Am engaged with a Nevermore and a Death Stalker. We need assistance immediately."

"Pyrrha, Pinetree. Second Squadron is engaged with Beowolves to the south. Third Squadron is on its way. ETA fifteen minutes, best speed."

"_Skata!"_ Pyrrha cursed in Greek. This engagement would not last five minutes. They were effectively on their own.

* * *

The eight aircraft headed north—Blake, Yang, Ren and Jaune were the first to reach the ruins; Pyrrha and Weiss were a few seconds behind. Nora, the slowest, actually outdistanced the latter two: she laughed merrily as she dodged moss-covered ruins, so low neither GRIMM could effectively track her. That left Ruby, who had ended up to the southwest and the furthest to go. The Nevermore locked onto her and began firing. A rain of shells speared down towards the F-16.

Ruby had never been so scared in her life. She shoved the throttle past the detent and into afterburner; her hand blurred as she moved the control stick in weaves.

"Ruby, get out of there!" Yang shouted.

"I'm trying, dammit!" Ruby shot back, gasping for breath. The G-suit was squeezing and letting go as she twisted and turned. Then she was through the steel rain.

"Ruby, Blake, watch out! Three o'clock low! Break left _now!"_ Blake had been watching the F-16 get past the cones of fire from the Nevermore, but realized before the others that the Nevermore wasn't just trying to kill Ruby, it was herding her—towards the Death Stalker.

Ruby didn't question the order, but the screaming in her helmet wasn't just coming from her sister or Blake: her threat warning gear was shrilling that the Death Stalker was locked on. She stole a glance backward and saw the GRIMM's dorsal turret opening up like a flower of death. Ruby dropped chaff and threw her F-16 into a roll, but the lock on tone remained steady, as if the Death Stalker was screaming _"Found you! Found you!"_

"_RUBY!"_ Yang screamed. Her fingers tightened around the trigger, but her AMRAAMs would not guide on a ground target.

The Death Stalker's ventral turret suddenly shook with an explosion. It still fired, but the tone abruptly stopped. The missile barrage chased a chaff cloud and exploded harmlessly well behind Ruby. She craned her head back to see what had saved her life…and saw a Typhoon curving away from the Death Stalker. Gunsmoke trailed behind the left wingroot. Ruby let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Thanks, Weiss."

"Good shooting, Weiss!" Jaune called out.

"My turn!" Nora yelled. "Nora's in hot!" Ruby passed the A-10 as it made a hard turn—at this altitude, few aircraft could match the Warthog's snap-turn capability—and headed directly at the Death Stalker. Ironically, the aircraft everyone except Nora had believed might be a liability on this mission was now their best chance at succeeding in it.

"Blake here. I'll cover you." Blake accelerated the Tomcat forward—and then there were three Tomcats. Yang's eyes widened as she made a long curve over the overgrown ruins of the Twin Cities' airport. "So that's what that does," she said. The Death Stalker clearly classified the _Gambol Shrouds_ as the bigger threat, and its nose turrets opened fire, giving a Nora a clear run.

Nora was a little too enthusiastic, and opened fire a tad too soon. The GAU-8 Avenger 30 millimeter cannon chewed up old concrete and trees before it hit the Death Stalker in the head. Nora pulled off the target as the dorsal turret slewed in her direction; she jinked first left and then upwards, throwing off the turret, but also flying into the path of Blake's F-14.

Blake swore as she slammed the stick into her left knee to avoid the A-10, then felt the Tomcat heave as it hit the jetwash of the other aircraft. She moved the throttles up and dived, forcing air through the intakes. The sudden movement overloaded the _Gambol Shroud's_ holographic projections, which faded, and Blake found herself heading towards the Nevermore. It gave her a sudden, dangerous idea. She pushed the throttles forward even more and began dropping flares behind her. With a bang Blake didn't hear—the noise was far behind her—the Tomcat went supersonic, and straight past the Nevermore. She fired both of her AMRAAMs off her wing stations: they were too close and too fast to arm, but the sheer speed of impact caused the Nevermore damage. Then she was past: the Nevermore struggled to lock onto the _Gambol Shroud's_ to begin with, and her speed was too fast in any case.

* * *

Ruby saw the near midair collision. _We're getting in each other's way. We've got to get control of this._ She climbed to where she could see the battle; hanging upside down in her straps, she looked down. "Yang, Weiss, Blake! We can take the Nevermore! Jaune—" She saw the Mirage on a long curve to the west "—you, Pyrrha, Ren and Nora, can you guys take on the Death Stalker until Third gets here?"

"Only one way to find out!" Jaune replied, giddy with resignation. He was quite sure he was about to die, but Arcs did not go down without fighting and with a minimum of hysterical screaming.

Ruby rolled over and turned her attention from that battle; it would have to be Jaune and the rest. "Yang, Ruby, can you get the Nevermore's attention? Lead it north over the city! Weiss, come back around and stand by to engage!"

"Roger the hell out of that!" Yang was already overhead the Nevermore at thirty thousand feet. She split-S and dived straight at the Nevermore, which was still trying to track Blake. Like the other woman, she fired her last wing-mounted AMRAAMs ballistically into the Nevermore, then leveled out over the broad back of the GRIMM, lit her afterburners, and headed straight for the ruins.

The effect was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. The Nevermore's computer brain, reeling from four impacts in quick succession, altered its programming to destroy its new target at whatever cost. The huge drone turned and accelerated after Yang, turrets coming to bear and opening fire.

Yang twisted and turned, got lower, and used the buildings as cover. The Twin Cities had been hit by a Soviet one-megaton warhead that landed between Minneapolis and St. Paul: the blast had toppled a few buildings and left others barely standing. Time had caused the survivors to crumble, but enough remained to absorb the steel darts fired at Yang. She slowed down, but not by much, grinning with sheer exhilaration as she dodged death from ruined buildings or kinetic rounds by mere feet. Her hands moved the throttle and stick and her feet moved the rudder pedals, and _Ember Celica_ responded as if it was an extension of her body. The Nevermore wasn't particularly sporting: it just crashed through the ruins, mindlessly damaging itself.

Ruby watched as Yang emerged from the dust and smoke. "Sierra hotel, Yang! Zone five and climb!"

Yang struggled out a "roger" as she pulled the stick back into her lap and engaged the afterburners, going into a hard climb. Few aircraft could climb better than the F-15. The Nevermore could not match that and its computer knew it: instead, it locked on its ventral turrets against a spreadeagled target in a blue sky.

"Nail 'em, Weiss! Blake, get ready for a Phoenix shot!"

Though Weiss remarked to herself that Ruby could be doing a better job at communicating, she had guessed the other pilot's plan. As the Nevermore cleared the building, the damage from four AMRAAM hits and from flying through ruined buildings had badly compromised the GRIMM's stealthiness. Her visual targeting computer now had a clear lock-on. "Weiss, Fox Three." She fired her last three AMRAAMs. "DUST," she spoke clearly, "lock on IRIS." The DUST system, cued to her voice, slewed the infrared sensor in the nose of the Typhoon, which quickly obtained a lock as well as she closed on it. "Salvo IRIS." The computer slaved all four heatseeking missiles to a single pull of the trigger. Weiss fired, and the four IRIS missiles leaped from their rails towards the Nevermore. "Weiss, Fox Two. Off to the right." She pulled hard away from the target. Two of the three AMRAAM hit, but only half the IRIS; two chased the heat of the ground. The Nevermore staggered, and the fire intended for Yang went wide.

* * *

"Pyrrha's in, east to west." The Death Stalker was still reeling from Nora's hits, but that would not last for long. She rolled in and fired her Vulcan at the left turret, seeing some hits as she climbed away. The right turret spun to acquire her, but now Jaune came in, following Pyrrha through her attack. His heavy 30 millimeter cannon pounded the right turret, which began to smoke. Pyrrha, acting on instinct more than sight, skidded her F-16 at the top of her climb, shuddered on the edge of a stall, and dived in on the right turret, exhausting her ammunition on it. She nearly clipped the trees as she pulled out, but now that turret hung askew, and the left was spinning crazily, trying to acquire either Pyrrha's F-16 or Jaune's Mirage.

The Death Stalker did not see Ren. He came in fast, firing his cannon. The missile turret launched a flight of missiles at him. Ren waited half a second, long enough for the missiles to commit as warnings went off in the cockpit, then threw the J-10 into a climb and roll. The missiles flew under him, unable to turn to meet his climb, and hit a row of mildewed houses. Still upside down, he fired a Sidewinder: radar-guided missiles might not guide on the Death Stalker, but it was giving off plenty of heat, and the missile battery was the hottest target of all. The Sidewinder hit at the base of the turret, and a halo of flame leapt up from it. With a spark, the turret locked in place—still operational, but unable to move. The remaining turret, however, followed Ren through his climb, and fired. Ren felt the shells hit the J-10, and said the fighter pilot's prayer, universal in any language: "Oh, shit."

* * *

Blake had gone a good twenty miles away before turning back around. She switched to the heavy Phoenixes beneath the Tomcat. She checked the range to the target—thirty miles, which was close to the minimum range for the Phoenix. There was also the question of the missiles would even guide; her radar was having trouble locking onto the Nevermore. She'd have to take the chance. "Blake, Fox Three." She pulled the trigger twice. First one and then the other Phoenix dropped from the fuselage, ignited, and shot up and away. The missiles rapidly climbed to sixty thousand feet, where their own radars clicked on. The Nevermore was staggering upwards, on fire, trying to gain altitude as its radar searched for targets. The Phoenixes found the GRIMM and roared downwards at five times the speed of sound. The Nevermore detected the threat and opened fire: one Phoenix exploded, but the other blasted into the Nevermore's back.

* * *

"Ren!" Nora shouted, and let fly her rocket pods. Back at Beacon, the A-10 was loaded with what the armorers believed would be the best setup for GRIMM fighting: two Sidewinders, four rocket pods, and a pair of 20 millimeter gunpods. The rockets hit, but most struck the Death Stalker's armored carapace. It did throw off the remaining turret's aim, allowing Ren to escape.

"Ren, how bad are you hit?" Jaune called out.

"Picked up some rounds in the engine and the wing." A fire warning light came on, and he activated the onboard extinguisher. "I have to RTB before I lose power."

"Pyrrha's in, west to east." Pyrrha made another Immelmann turn and came back at the Death Stalker.

"Pyrrha, Jaune! That missile turret's locked! Knock it out!"

Pyrrha, with a flick of her right wrist, changed targets to the missile turret and fired both Sidewinders from her wingtips. Both smashed into the turret and exploded, blowing it into the air. She pushed into afterburner, acclerating away as the last turret tried to acquire her F-16.

Nora saw her chance. She had climbed, but now rolled over and dived straight at the Death Stalker. The turret's barrels rotated, came to rest, and began firing. Sparks flew off the titanium nose of the A-10, but Nora ignored it. "Gotcha!" she laughed, and fired not just the nose mounted gun, but the two gunpods as well. The recoil nearly stopped the A-10 in midair, throwing Nora against her straps; the effect of her shells gouged huge holes in the Death Stalker's carapace. Fire lanced through cracks in the GRIMM's torso, and it seemed to collapse into itself. Nora had barely gotten airspeed back and cleared before the Death Stalker's magazine went off, blowing it apart.

"Pinetree, Nora!" she giggled. "Death Stalker destroyed!"

* * *

"Damn thing won't go down!" Yang was at seventy thousand feet, looking down; around her, the sky had darkened to a deep indigo.

"Ruby's in, north to south." Ruby had looped in from the north, and the Nevermore was nearly stalled directly in front of her. She was too close for even her Sidewinders, so she switched to guns, waited until the Nevermore filled her gunsight, and fired. She emptied the 500-round drum of the Vulcan cannon, then rolled left, barely clearing the Nevermore. The shells tore through the GRIMM's nose. It stalled, sank backwards, and crashed into what had once been a suburb of St. Paul. "Pinetree, Ruby! Splash one Nevermore!"


	10. Aces High

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Shorter chapter this time. And yes, I rip off Top Gun mercilessly in this chapter. Probably the last time I do that._

_I feel a little bad being so hard on Weiss in this chapter, but she'll get her chance to shine. And the stats on aces? Those are accurate. It is very rare for a pilot to become an ace. The last American ace achieved that honor in October 1972 (in real history)._

_And thank you so very much, everyone who has read this story. I've been posting here since 2002, and I have NEVER had that many hits on a story before in a single day. You guys are gonna make me cry, dammit._

* * *

_Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 April 2001_

Ozpin looked at the report over a cup of coffee. Glynda Goodwitch stood behind his swivel chair, staring out over the flightline. Night had fallen. The base was lit up, and she could see mechanics swarming over Ren's J-10. He had made it back to Beacon and executed an excellent landing, considering the damage to the rudder. The rest of First Squadron had returned safely as well, though Ruby and Weiss were on fumes by the time they did. The pilots were ordered to shower and change, then to report to Ozpin's office.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Ozpin ordered.

The door opened to admit Pyrrha Nikos, wearing the dark blue uniform of the Hellenic Air Force. She came to attention before his desk. Ozpin's eyes beetled in confusion. "Major Nikos?" He was not about to try his luck with the Greek version of her rank. "Where's the rest of your flight?"

"Waiting outside, sir. I'll just be a minute." Her eyes remained on the flightline outside, not meeting his. "Captain, were you planning on giving me command of that flight?"

"I was. You have the rank and the experience, and you showed your skill this afternoon." He tapped the folder in front of him. "You showed why your country sent you here, and why you won the Gunsmoke competition four years running—and appeared on a cereal box?" Ozpin smiled.

Pyrrha did not. "They're not really good for you, sir. The cereal, I mean." She hesitated, then plunged on. "Captain Ozpin, with respect, I must decline command of the flight."

Goodwitch folded her hands behind her back. "That is surprising, Major. You haven't been recalled to Greece, have you?"

"No, ma'am. I want to remain here. But I do _not_ want command." She faltered, looked down. "You've read my file, Captain. You know about the…incident…over Crete."

Ozpin shook his head. "That was an unfortunate event, Major. Surely nothing to—"

"For the last time, Captain Ozpin, and again, with respect. I will not command a flight." She tapped her wings. Like the British Royal Air Force, the HAF's wings were sewn onto the uniform. "I will resign my commission before I command a flight."

Ozpin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his knuckles. "All right, Major, you've made your point." He sighed. "Who do you recommend to command your flight?"

"Jaune Arc."

Goodwitch looked over the top of her glasses. "Arc? He's lucky to get out of his own way."

"He has potential, ma'am. When I hesitated against the Death Stalker, he took command. I think he will do well if given a chance—and more responsibility."

"He's junior," Ozpin answered her. "Lie Ren is next in line in seniority."

"Captain Ren agrees with me."

Ozpin stared at her for a moment. "Ask the rest of the flight to come in."

Pyrrha nodded, opened the door, and waved the other three pilots in. They came to attention, and Ozpin was struck by the international flavor of the flight. All four wore blue, but in different shades and cuts, representing Greece, France, China, and the United States. "Ladies and gentlemen, Major Nikos has informed me of her desire to not command your flight. With some trepidation, I have agreed with her. Captain Ren, you are next in seniority, ahead of Lieutenants Valkyrie and Arc."

"Sir." Ren spoke smoothly and without hesitation. "I believe that Lieutenant Arc should command this flight."

Ozpin pursed his lips. "I see. Lieutenant Valkyrie?"

"Yes, sir!" she chirped. "I think Lieutenant Arc will make a great flight commander."

Ozpin hesitated again, then reached into his desk and produced a bottle of Wite-Out. He spread it over the hand-lettered title on the folder, thought a moment, then wrote down four letters: JNPR. "Very well. You are now Juniper Flight. Lieutenant Arc, you are in command for the rest of the tour. Congratulations, young man." Ren clapped politely and smiled, Nora cheered, and Pyrrha, a shy smile spreading on her face, gave Jaune a polite pat on the back. Jaune turned beet red and looked as if he wasn't sure if he should laugh or throw up.

"Show in the next flight, please." The newly-minted Juniper Flight left the office.

* * *

There were a few backslaps and cheers from the hallway, and then Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long walked in. All four came to attention. Ozpin was once more struck by the differences and similarities. Ruby and Yang wore USAF blue; Weiss' Luftwaffe uniform was a shade darker and carried her rank on both shoulders and collar tabs; Blake wore Marine khakis.

"Ladies," Ozpin greeted them. "You had a hell of a first day." Ruby opened her mouth to say something, only to be cut off. "You're lucky to be alive!" The steel in his voice cut through the room. The four of them would have expected Goodwitch's wrath, but not Ozpin, which made the sudden raising of his voice all the more intimidating. "Captain Long, Lieutenant Belladonna. You did well enough against the Ursai, but you allowed yourself to get too far north and did not maintain sufficient radio contact with the other section of your flight." Blake stared at her boots, while Yang gritted her teeth.

"As for you, Lieutenants Schnee and Rose, your conduct today bordered on the ludicrous. Lieutenant Schnee, you took the flight lead without consulting Lieutenant Rose. You consistently lectured her when it was not your place to do so. And you got your flight lost, which may have endangered the entire mission."

"Sir!" Weiss protested. "It was the DUST equipment, it interfered with the navigation system—"

"Which you should have known about," Ozpin interrupted. He tapped the _DUST for Dummies_ pamphlet that lay on his desk. "It's clearly outlined in this pamphlet that DUST is still experimental and may, I quote, 'have unforeseen technical failures on newer aircraft.'" He shook his head. "When you lost your navigation, you should have immediately turned over flight lead to Lieutenant Rose."

Weiss' cheeks burned. "Captain Ozpin, with respect, Lieutenant Rose is—"

Goodwitch pounced. "Lieutenant Schnee. How many flight hours do you have?"

"Four thousand hours," Weiss said with not a small trace of pride.

"How many combat hours? Before today," Goodwitch added.

Weiss looked back at her defiantly, but could not meet the other woman's gaze. "Before today…none."

"And how many air-to-air victories?"

Weiss gave her feet the same attention Blake had given hers. "None," she said quietly.

"You have more time in the Typhoon than Lieutenant Rose has in the F-16," Goodwitch told her, "but Rose has five air-to-air victories—four air pirates and one GRIMM." Her lips curled briefly into a smile. "I believe that makes her an ace. Doesn't it, Lieutenant Schnee?"

Weiss' jaw was clenched so hard the muscles audibly cracked. Since the days of fabric and wood biplanes in World War I, an ace was a pilot who achieved five kills. While on the surface that did not seem like a high number, only ten percent of all pilots would become aces. In a war between humans, forty percent of all pilots would become fodder for the ten percent. Less than one percent became aces in their first two missions. Most pilots were lucky to survive their first ten combat missions.

"Answer me, Lieutenant." Now it was Goodwitch whose voice took on an edge.

"Yes," Weiss answered shortly.

"Say 'ma'am.' Officer present."

"Ma'am!" Weiss barked the word and clicked her heels together. Goodwitch let it slide; she was not sure if Weiss was being sarcastic or it was merely instinctual.

Ruby was fighting a smile and losing—not because of Weiss' discomfort, but because she was an ace. Not even Yang was an ace! She was, therefore, taken completely by surprise when Ozpin rounded on her. "And as for you, Lieutenant Rose, you nearly shot down Lieutenant Schnee!" Ruby wilted. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ruby said exactly the wrong thing. "Sir. I had the shot on the Beowulf. There was no danger to Wei—Lieutenant Schnee, so I took it."

"You took it!" Ozpin snapped, though his voice did not raise to a shout. "And broke a major rule of engagement! And you broke another one by arguing with Lieutenant Schnee like a couple of schoolgirls!" He sighed and turned away from both of them. "Lieutenant Rose, Vytal Flag rules of engagement exist for your safety and that of your team. They are not flexible, nor am I. Either obey them or you are history. Understood?"

Ruby fought back tears. She had expected praise, not this. "Yes, sir!" she barked it out much like Weiss had.

Ozpin turned back to them and gave a short nod. "Good. Now that we've gotten that disagreeable business out of the way, allow me to offer congratulations on the destruction of the Nevermore. All of you more than made up for earlier transgressions by your successful teamwork—including you, Lieutenant Rose. In fact, you showed flashes of actual leadership by recognizing that you and Juniper Flight were getting in each other's way, and dividing targets. All four of you worked exceptionally well together, as we had hoped." Ozpin moved the JNPR folder out of the way to reveal a second one, marked RWBY. "With that in mind, I have made you flight leader of Ruby Flight. Congratulations."

Ruby's silver eyes rounded, while Weiss' jaw dropped open. Yang shot both arms in the air in triumph, and Blake gave a hesitant, but warm smile. Ozpin allowed himself a small one. "Given that 2nd Lieutenants are rarely awarded flight leader status, and we can't have butter bar aces running around, you will be promoted, First Lieutenant Rose. _Brevet_ First Lieutenant." Ozpin punctured Ruby's wide grin a little. Brevet ranks were not official, and awarded only in wartime. Technically—even with the GRIMM attacks—the world was more or less at peace, but Ozpin could bend the rules a little. "If you earn it, that rank will become permanent." He sat down in his chair. "Congratulations," he repeated. "Now, dismissed."

* * *

Goodwitch finally let loose her smile, though it was a wan one. "Promoting the two most junior officers we have to flight command. Sometimes, Ozpin, I think you choose teams based on what kind of weird anagram you can make."

Ozpin laughed. "Why, Lieutenant Colonel Goodwitch! I am shocked, _shocked_ mind you, that you would make such baseless accusations." He ran his hands over the RWBY and JNPR folders. "Besides, the other anagrams weren't as good." He drained his coffee cup. "Yes, it's going to be an interesting six months."

* * *

In the hallway outside of Ozpin's office, Yang once more tried to bend her sister's ribs out of place with her hug. "So proud of you!"

Blake shook hands with her. "Well done, Ruby."

That left Weiss. She was not smiling. "You are so childish," she remarked. "And dimwitted, and hyperactive, and don't even get me started on how you throw that F-16 around." Then her features softened. "That said, I can be…difficult at times. If we're going to do this and get through this training, we must do it together." She held out a hand. "So if you quit trying to show off, I'll be…well…nicer."

Ruby took the hand. "I'm not trying to show off, Weiss. I want you to know I can do this."

Weiss smiled. Genuinely. "All right, then. Shall we go grab something to eat? I'm starving."

Blake smirked "Since Marines don't get paid much, I defer to Yang and the United States Air Force."

Yang rolled her eyes. "Hell, why not."


	11. Too Much Time On My Hands

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A bit of a talky chapter here, but we've got to have some characterization. And hey, it's got Prof-er, Wing Commander Port, and our first introduction to Faunus. Yes, they very much exist in this world. Enjoy._

_I've spent a lot of time around fighter pilots, and yes, fighter pilot hangouts do indeed have quotes scattered around. And please don't take my quotes about the Marines out of context-while the other services kid about Marines not being very intelligent, it's always done with a smile on the face. My grandfather was a proud Marine all his life. Yang's reference to broad asses is an old nickname for female Marines during World War II-BAMs (Broad Assed Marines). I doubt that nickname is still being used today!_

_The Dicta Boelcke is not something I made up, and yes, it is still taught as part of the syllabus, especially at both the USAF and Navy Fighter Weapons School. _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 April 2001_

The early morning sunlight crept across the bed of Weiss Schnee. As it reached her face, she instinctively curled into a ball and rolled away from it. The sun was not to be denied, however, and Weiss opened her eyes. She blinked for a moment, then smelled the sweet smell of pine trees, dewy grass, and fresh air. Weiss stretched and settled back on her pillow, not quite awake but not quite asleep.

What would've been a pleasant, easy morning was shattered by some fiend grabbing two trash can lids and banging them together like cymbals like a lunatic monkey. Weiss stiffened and levitated out of bed, ending up in a pile of bedclothes, pajamas and flailing limbs. "Drop your cocks and grab your socks!" shouted Ruby Rose.

"_Was im Namen Gottes!"_ Weiss exclaimed. She looked up to see the madly grinning Ruby, flanked by a slightly less demented Yang Xiao Long and a faintly disgusted looking Blake Belladonna. All three wore fatigues. Blake gave Ruby a sidelong glance. "You do know that is anatomically impossible, Ruby." She gave Weiss a hand up.

"Duh," Ruby shot back. "It's just something my uncle used to say to get us out of bed." Yang snickered. "And now that you're awake, we can officially begin the day's operations."

Weiss straightened her nightgown. "And that would be?"

"Decorating!" Yang said happily.

"We still need to unpack," Blake added.

"True. Allow me to go change." Weiss headed for the bathroom.

"I'll help you unpack those boxes!" Ruby called after her.

"Those are actually mine," Blake said. "The expensive luggage is hers, but the U-Haul boxes are mine."

"Whatever!" Ruby was not about to be dissuaded. "Let the first mission of Ruby Flight begin!"

* * *

It was, Weiss thought later, surprisingly fun. The room was a large one, with plenty of shelf space: a third of that space went to Yang's music collection, while the rest went to Blake's books, much to everyone's surprise. The reputation of the United States Marine Corps was that those who joined tended to eat crayons, drink napalm, do nothing but think of ways to kill America's enemies in a most gruesome fashion, and yell loudly about it afterwards. Blake seemed to defy all those stereotypes. Ruby did not take up a lot of room, which was also something of a surprise—she had a small collection of books and music, and three airplane models, and that was about it. Weiss, for her part, had packed mostly clothes, though she also had a modest music collection.

The walls were military gray, in line with the Navy rule that if it does not move, paint it gray. Yang hung up a picture of a boy band; Blake had nothing. Weiss and Ruby had the same ideas: to no one's surprise, Ruby's idea of decoration were posters of fighters, big glossy USAF prints. Weiss carried with her a small, framed photograph of the Alps in winter, and an illuminated script of a quote:

_Only the spirit of attack, born in a brave heart, will bring success to any fighter aircraft, no matter how highly developed it may be._

It had been written by World War II German ace Adolf Galland. Blake, Yang and Ruby all looked at it once Weiss had hung it up, and nodded appreciatively. Fighter pilot bars tended to be covered in such pithy quotes.

* * *

Yang wandered over to where Blake was patiently putting books on the shelves, in alphabetical order. Most were books on military history, naturally, but it was an eclectic collection. "I'm surprised you're not a mud mover attack pilot," Yang commented.

"Oh? How so?" Blake decided not to take it as an insult.

"Lots of books on counterinsurgency."

Blake shrugged. "Know thy enemy. We won't always be fighting GRIMM. Remember the air pirates?"

"How could I forget?" Yang touched the spine of one book. "What's this? _Ninjas of Love?"_

"Oh, that!" Blake laughed, a little too loudly. "That's a study of, ah, romantic notions of traditional Japanese society and how it affected the kamikaze tactics of World War II!"

"Weird title."

"I know, right?" Blake surreptitiously placed herself between Yang and the book in question. Luckily for her, Yang was distracted by shiny objects and was soon inspecting the medals on Weiss' dress uniform.

* * *

Finally, they were done. For reasons she wasn't even sure about, Weiss had brought a frilly rug that tied the room together. There was just one thing missing.

"Where do we put the flipping beds?" Yang asked.

The beds had been moved out into the hallway while the decoration and unpacking had commenced. Now there was not enough room for them, unless they were forced together—and none of them particularly relished the idea of climbing over the other three if someone had to go to the bathroom.

"I guess we could take down some of the shelves," Yang sighed. "We'd have to move some of the CDs and books, though."

"Or…" Ruby's face lit up. "We could replace the beds with bunk beds!"

Blake considered it. "I'm not against the idea, but I don't know if we could requisition bunk beds from base supply. It might take awhile."

"Requisition smequisition," Ruby scoffed. "We could make them ourselves."

"That sounds incredibly dangerous," Weiss said.

"And super awesome!" Yang finished. She was clearly onboard with the idea.

"It would be efficient," Blake agreed.

Weiss bit back a comment on Marines and squad bays. "We should put it to a vote."

Ruby's hand shot into the air, Yang threw up devil's horns, and Blake gave it a thumbs up. Weiss groaned audibly. "There you go," Ruby told her. "Democracy in action."

* * *

To her credit, once outvoted, Weiss threw herself into her work, and did not run away screaming when she saw Ruby's idea of bunk beds. Her bed was suspended from hooks in the ceiling, held up by strong rope that she had scrounged from somewhere, with a blanket suspended like a mosquito net over the bed. It looked terrifying and would make an engineer cry, but to Weiss' surprise, it easily handled both Ruby and Yang leaping onto it. Of course, should the ropes break, the entire contraption would come crashing down onto Weiss' bed. "I'm going to be sleeping under the sword of Damocles," she muttered in German.

"Want to switch?" Blake asked her. She didn't understand German, but the expression on Weiss' face did not need translation.

"No, it's all right…my father always said I needed to conquer fear." Weiss looked at Yang and Blake's attempts. Theirs looked more like an actual bunk bed, but the only thing holding up Yang's bed were spare books. Weiss hoped for Blake's sake that Wisconsin was tectonically stable.

"Well, that wasn't a chore," Yang said, slapping her hands together. "They gave us the morning off, so when's our first class?"

"1200." Ruby picked up her notebook and sat on her bed. "Plenty of time."

Weiss pointed to the clock. "It's 1150, _dummkopf!"_

"Scramble!" Ruby shouted, slammed her notebook shut, and ran for the door, right behind Weiss. Blake, who had lay down on her bed, was nearly run over by Yang. "Move that broad ass, Marine!" Yang screamed.

"I do _not_ have a broad ass!" Blake yelled after her.

* * *

Luckily for them—and Juniper Flight, who Ruby Flight almost suffered a gigantic collision with in the hallway—their first class was just across the base quad. Besides Ruby and Juniper, there were two other flights Ruby herself recognized from the day before: Cardinal and Coffee Flights.

Hung on the wall were schematics of various GRIMM. Ruby and Juniper Flights had barely taken their seats when Weiss spotted a portly man wearing the Royal Air Force uniform of a Wing Commander walk into the auditorium. "Attention! All rise!" she commanded. The pilots got to their feet.

"At ease, at ease," the Wing Commander rumbled warmly, and they sat down. He was tall and a bit heavy, with gray hair parted down the middle and a heroic mustache; he appeared to be every inch the old Royal Air Force stiff-upper-lip professional. Under his wings were an equally impressive row of ribbons. "Good afternoon!" he greeted the pilots. "I am Wing Commander Peter Port, of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force." He gazed around the room. "Can anyone tell me what they're here for?"

There was hesitation around the room, but finally Blake raised her hand. "To learn?"

"Of course, Captain Belladonna. But to learn what, exactly?"

Lie Ren raised his hand. At Port's nod, he said "To fly and fight."

"Excellent answer! Yes, absolutely—and don't you forget it!" Port walked over to the GRIMM schematics. Weiss noticed that he leaned away from his turns, like a big ship underway. He slapped one poster of a Beowolf. "And to kill these! Monsters! Demons! Prowlers of the night!" He smiled beneath the mustache. "But I refer to them by another name, and so should you: as targets." Port placed his hands behind his back. "GRIMM are scary beasts, my friends. But we, as prospective hunters and huntresses, should not fear them. Respect them, yes—but not fear." He pointed in Ruby Flight's general direction, then Juniper's, then Cardinal's. "As these people proved yesterday. And quite a haul it was! Six Beowolves, three Ursai, a Nevermore, and a Death Stalker! I think we don't have to worry about GRIMM from the Minnesota Dead Zone for awhile." He waved at Coffee Flight. "Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen—you had bad luck yesterday, but you'll get your chance."

Port moved back up, closer to his students. "Now then! All of you here have learned to fly, and fly well, and after yesterday, all of you now have some combat time. Some of you, naturally, had combat time before your arrival here. I know of at least three aces in this room—Captain Adel, Major Nikos, and Lieutenant Rose." Weiss glanced back at the first person Port pointed to. A tough-looking, dark-skinned woman with short brown hair and beige fatigues stared back. Weiss turned her attention back to Port: whereas Pyrrha had sad eyes and Ruby annoyingly bright ones, Adel's were the eyes of a killer. She would have to learn more about her.

"Given how few aces there are, that is quite an achievement." Port held up a finger. "But how many of you have shot down something besides GRIMM?" Before anyone could answer, Port once more pointed at the three women. "All of these ladies have. Only Major Nikos, however, is an ace against sentient beings." He did not notice a shadow cross Pyrrha's face. Weiss did. _She looks like she's about to cry,_ Weiss thought. _What happened to her?_

"And that brings me to my next point." Port began a slow walk up and down the first row of seats. "GRIMM are nasty creatures, to be sure, but they are limited by the fact that they are, in the end, nonsentient drones. While we still—even after forty years—do not know what or who controls the GRIMM, their computer brains can be fooled. Beowolves, in particular, are not terribly bright. In fact, when I was in India back in '70, in my trusty Hawker Hunter…"

Weiss saw Ruby's head slumped down to her chest, her eyes closed. Irritated, she gave Ruby a sharp kick to the shin under the table. Ruby jumped, startled, and Weiss stabbed a finger at Port's back. The other girl nodded, rubbed her eyes, and after a few moments, began writing in her notebook. Weiss then checked on the other members of Ruby Flight. Blake was paying attention to Port's story, while Yang was also looking around the room…and was being a lot more obvious about it. Occasionally she would exchange a nod with someone.

After checking that Port was on the opposite side of the row, Weiss leaned over to Yang. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Checking out everyone else. Seeing who the best is." Yang winked at her. "After me, of course."

"Of course," Weiss said under her breath as she straightened up in her seat; Port had turned around. Although her curiosity was also peaked, Weiss fought down the urge to emulate Yang. Instead, she evaluated Ruby Flight.

Blake was sitting up straight in her seat, her yellow eyes—something Weiss had yet to figure out was the other woman's strange eye color—following Port intently. Blake was every inch the Marine, laconic, with no vices that Weiss could sense. She sensed Blake to be a consummate professional, one who did her job and did it well, with no complaints. The only thing that was out of place was the black bow in her hair, which was almost certainly not standard issue. Still, Weiss found herself liking Blake.

Yang leaned back in her chair, her feet unseen by Port but braced on the row of desks. She made little secret that she was at best paying half-attention to Port's lecture; luckily, the old man seemed wrapped up in his story. She had completed her inspection of the other pilots, and now her eyes roamed the schematics of the GRIMM hungrily. Weiss pegged Yang as being immature, prone to losing her temper, and probably loved to drink and party, like traditional fighter pilots—but she had seen what the blonde was capable of in the air. On the ground, Yang might be a hell-raiser, but in the air, she was a killer. Weiss could respect that, even forgive Yang's excesses.

And then she turned her attention to Ruby. Ruby was no longer writing in her notebook, but instead trying to balance her pencil on her fingers. To Weiss' disgust, Ruby had not been taking notes: she had been drawing a grotesque caricature of Wing Commander Port, and labeled it "Professor Poop." Rage welled up in Weiss' chest. Ruby was an amateur, a little girl who had gotten lucky, an aberration. So what that Ruby had shot down four air pirates? That was hardly proof of skill! Air pirates were dregs, rejects from civilized society—_anyone_ could shoot them down. To make this brat a flight leader…Weiss gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to kick Ruby's chair out from under her.

"Lieutenant Schnee? Oberleutnant Schnee?" Abruptly Weiss realized that Port was standing directly in front of her, and was staring at her.

"Yes, sir!" She nearly leapt out of her seat.

Port waved her back to the seat. "Such enthusiasm! I imagine you've been hanging on my every word. What did I say were the five traits of a successful huntsman—or in your case, a hun_tress_?"

Weiss' cheeks burned. She fervently wished for a GRIMM attack, or for a hole to open up in the earth. "I do not know, sir."

"You were not paying attention?"

"No, sir."

Port tapped a fist on her desk. "Tut-tut, Lieutenant. That's not very Luftwaffe of you." As scattered titters of laughter filled the room, Port looked up at the other pilots. "Oh, now, don't laugh. I could see that Lieutenant Schnee was hardly the only person not paying attention. Captain Winchester, you were busy checking out Captain Long's bust. Captain Long, you were busy checking out everyone _but _Captain Winchester. Flying Officer Scarlatina, you were picking your nose. Lieutenant Rose, you were trying to see if you could balance a pencil on your fingers. Clearly, my lecture is quite boring, eh?" Naturally, no one answered, but to their surprise, Port laughed. "Of course it was! Who wants to hear about India in 1970? No one!" His smile disappeared. "Except you, of course. I expect an eight-page paper from each one of you about the Indo-Pakistani War of 1970 and the influence of GRIMM on that conflict by tomorrow afternoon's class." Not quite muffled groans greeted Port's announcement. The smile returned. "Now I might, _might_ be persuaded to drop that to a four-page paper, but only if someone can tell me the eight tenets of the _Dicta Boelcke._"

The pilots murmured and looked to each other. The _Dicta Boelcke_ had been drawn up by German ace Oswald Boelcke in the First World War. Though Boelcke had fought in fabric-and-wood biplanes—Weiss remembered seeing the Albatros two days before—his basic dictates were still observed in fighter training almost a hundred years later. But not everyone knew they were called the _Dicta Boelcke,_ and even those that did could not recall all eight.

Except one. Weiss stood. "Sir. I know them all."

Port gave her a nod, and motioned her down to where he stood. "You have the floor, Miss Schnee."

Weiss stood at parade rest, hands behind her back, and snapped out the rules in a sharp, biting tone. Her eyes never left Ruby Rose.

"Tenet One: try to secure all advantages before attacking, including placing the sun behind you.

"Tenet Two: Always carry through an attack once you have started it.

"Tenet Three: Fire only at close range, and only when your opponent is in your sight.

"Tenet Four: Always keep your eyes on your opponent.

"Tenet Five: In any form of attack, hit your enemy from behind.

"Tenet Six: If your opponent dives on you, do not run, but turn and meet their attack.

"Tenet Seven: When over enemy lines, do not forget your line of retreat.

"Tenet Eight: Attack in groups of four or six, and do not attack the same opponent."

Port clapped his hands, and the rest of the auditorium erupted in applause. Weiss smiled and gave a short bow of the head. "Excellent!" he said. He put up his hands, and the clapping died down. "Now, can anyone tell me which of his own tenets that Boelcke failed to adhere to, at the cost of his life?"

_Oh no._ Weiss racked her brain. Boelcke had not survived the war; he had been killed in action, but how? That was one she did not know—and should have known.

Velvet raised her hand and stood. "Sir!" Her voice shared the same British accent as Port. "Boelcke was killed in a midair collision with his wingman…which would mean he violated Tenet Eight, sir." Weiss' eyes widened when she saw the two objects sticking up from Velvet's brown hair. She had not seen the other pilot before. _Those are ears. She's not doing some sort of stupid cosplay, those are real!_ Weiss' fists clenched, unseen, behind her back. _A Faunus!_

"Very good, Flight Officer." Port nodded. "Since Lieutenant Schnee has successfully given us the _Dicta Boelcke,_ you will not be required to write a paper on India in '70." There were sighs of relief among the pilots. "Instead, you will write a four-page paper on how your engagement yesterday did, or did not, use Boelcke's dictum. Class dismissed." The pilots rose as Port turned and walked out.

The pilots dissolved into conversation as the flights filed out. Blake and Yang were engrossed in their own discussion, and neither noticed that Ruby had not gotten up from her desk. Neither had Weiss moved from the floor. Soon, they were the only two in the auditorium.


	12. Furious Angels

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another talky chapter. Don't worry, there's more air action coming up soon. I feel kind of bad for Weiss in this chapter; I'm really trying not to make her into a Asuka-like bitch in this story. But she has a valid point about Ruby. You also may be asking how Faunus exist in a world where there isn't any magic. (Or is there?) I'll explain that in the next chapter._

_Historical notes: Ozpin is quoting Bernard Montgomery. Though Montgomery's reputation for arrogance is well-founded, he's actually a complex character worth studying. Werner Voss is also an interesting historical character-the TV series "Dogfights" did an episode on his amazing dogfight against eight British aces. If you get a chance to watch it, do it. Weiss has a reason to admire him._

* * *

_Pilot Training Room B, Building 91913_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 April 2001_

Weiss Schnee stared daggers at Ruby Rose, who wilted under the other girl's gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she said, not meeting Weiss' eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Why don't you ask yourself that question?" Weiss snapped. "You're supposed to be our flight leader, and besides that, a Lieutenant in the United States Air Force. By what Captain Ozpin said yesterday, you are a good one. Are you?"

"I'd like to think so—"

"I don't!" Weiss cut her off. "I think you got lucky, or the air pirates you fought were even more incompetent than you are. Let's not forget that you almost killed both of us yesterday."

Ruby's head came up, silver eyes blazing. "That's not fair, Weiss!"

"What's not fair is that a _child_ got command of a flight!" Weiss shot back. "Instead of acting like a professional, grownup fighter pilot, an officer and a lady, you act like you're twelve! Drawing stupid pictures of Wing Commander Port, playing around with your pencils—what's your next trick, trying to eat a cookie with your nose?"

Ruby half-rose from her seat, opened her mouth with the intent of telling Weiss off, but her words hit home. She sank back down. "I thought you believed in acting as a team."

"I do! Just not a team commanded by you. I've studied for this all my life. I've trained for it all my life. I graduated at the top of my class, and I have consistently led my wing in gunnery and flying. I came here with the intent of becoming the best. You're here because Ozpin saw something in you, or likes your eyes, or whatever. And he made a mistake, Lieutenant Rose. A big one." Weiss stalked out of the auditorium, but paused on the threshold. "And if you don't want to make another one, Lieutenant, you'll get out of here and get back to where you came from, before you get someone killed. Someone you _do_ care about."

* * *

Weiss continued to fume as she left the building and headed into the courtyard; people who were in her way shrank back against the walls, as if she was radioactive. Part of her wanted to march into Ozpin's office and demand a transfer back to Germany: if this was how the commander of Vytal Flag did things, it would be near lunacy to stay. Throwing people into the deep end by making their first mission against GRIMM was one thing, but assigning flight leader status to incompetents based on some hidden potential was another. Ruby was a child; Jaune was an accident waiting to happen. _Coffee and Cardinal Flights at least got someone with experience—Cardin Winchester is a Weapons School graduate, and Coco Adel clearly has some combat time. _A transfer to another flight might work; it would be better than waiting around for Ruby Rose to screw something else up.

And in any case, she could not return home. As much as she wanted to, that was no longer an option.

Weiss saw Wing Commander Port making his way across the quad, headed for base headquarters. She moved to cut him off. Port stopped and smiled. "Good afternoon, Oberleutnant."

"Good afternoon, sir." Weiss came to attention and saluted. After Port had returned the salute—palm out, in the British style—she acted on her impulse. "Wing Commander, may I have a word?" There was no one else within earshot; this was as private as she was likely going to get.

"Certainly, Oberleutnant. Is this about not paying attention in class today? I would say that you've already corrected that mistake, though I advise it not happen again."

"It will not, sir. That is not what I wanted to address. Do you have any say in flight assignments?"

"I do."

"Thank you, sir." Weiss took a breath and continued on. "I would like to request to be transferred to a different flight. Immediately, if possible."

Port's smile faded. "Request denied," he said flatly.

"Just like that?" Weiss shrilled.

"Just like that. You may have noticed, Oberleutnant, that there is no air force in the world run at the convienence of lieutenants. Or wing commanders. You have your orders. With your record, Oberleutnant _Schnee_—" he emphasized her last name, much to Weiss' anger "—I would think you would be aware of that. You have consistently had top marks throughout your career."

"Then why am I not flight commander?" Weiss demanded. She knew her tone of voice was insubordinate, but suddenly didn't care.

"Your attitude."

"My _what?"_

"I didn't stutter, Miss Schnee. From what Captain Ozpin and Lieutenant Colonel Goodwitch have told me, since you got here, you've done nothing but play the princess. You demand favors to which you are not entitled, overstepped the boundaries of rank—which you are doing right now, I must point out—and attempted to undermine the authority of those placed over you. Your family may be the most powerful in Europe, but here, that name means nothing, and in fact may work against you." Port paused, then softened his tone. "Has it ever occurred to you, Oberleutnant, that perhaps the choice of Ruby Rose as flight commander was not only for her benefit, but yours as well?"

Weiss wanted to rail at Port, but that would not be good for her career. "It has not, Wing Commander."

"Obviously," Port replied. "Perhaps the good Captain Ozpin thought that you might need a little humility. Are you a better leader and pilot than Lieutenant Rose? Quite possible. Is Lieutenant Rose immature? Also quite possible. But so are _you_."

"I am not!" Weiss shouted.

"If you were not, you would be trying to help Lieutenant Rose become a better flight leader, not stamping your feet like a spoiled little girl who has had her favorite toy taken from her. Do I see Captain Long here? Or Lieutenant Belladonna? Yes," Port told her, reading the emotions on her face, "Captain Long is Lieutenant Rose's sister, but I daresay that Lieutenant Belladonna would have no issue raising the same accusations you have made—_if_ she shared them. By acting like you're doing now, Oberleutnant, you are merely, and continually, proving my point."

Weiss could not reply to that. The _spoiled little girl_ comment hit her hard. _I am not that,_ she told herself angrily. _I am not that. I got here because I'm good, not because I'm a Schnee. _But just thinking it raised the little self-doubt that always lurked at the corners of Weiss' mind: that all of her marks, positions, ranks, and assignments were just to please the Schnee family and her father, not because of anything she had done—that she was a sham, a walking lie.

Port put a beefy hand on her shoulder. "Oberleutnant," he said evenly, "take it from someone who knows. Don't worry about the things you don't have; celebrate the things you do. Be _who_ you are, not what you _think_ you are, or others think you are." He withdrew the hand and nodded. "Right. Think about that. In fact, why don't you write me a short paper on the subject? Call it punishment for insubordination. Dismissed, Oberleutnant." Without another word, Port resumed his walk towards headquarters, leaving a very confused Weiss in his wake.

* * *

Ruby sat in the cockpit of _Crescent Rose, _still in her fatigues. She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and went through the old habit of touching the stick and throttle, checking button positions. It was yet another lesson taught by her Uncle Qrow—_sometimes the lights go out,_ she could hear him say in his half-growl of a voice._ You need to be familiar with everything in the cockpit if that happens. And you need to know so you're not sticking your head down in it and losing your situational awareness. Lose that and you're going to be a very dead little girl. And I've already seen too many dead little girls._

"It was a mistake, Uncle Qrow," she whispered to herself.

"What was?"

Ruby nearly jumped into the canopy. She saw that it was Captain Ozpin, standing on the ladder, resting his everpresent coffee cup on the cockpit rim. When her heart had resumed something like a normal beat, he repeated his question.

"Me coming here," Ruby said sadly. "Weiss is right. I acted like a little kid in class today. I know better than that." She looked away. "Maybe you should send me back to Signal."

"I should think that a momentary lapse in judgement on your first day as a flight leader is hardly a reason to quit." He sipped at his coffee. "You made a mistake. It happens. Do not make it again."

"I've made several mistakes. I'm not a good flight leader."

"I repeat, it is your first day. Do you think your Uncle Qrow was a good flight leader his first day?" Ozpin laughed. "Trust me, he wasn't…but that's a story for another day."

"But Weiss…" Ruby turned to look at Ozpin. "What if you made a mistake?"

Ozpin suddenly seemed very old, and he stared into his coffee. "Ruby, I have made more mistakes than any person on this planet. There is nothing you could do that I have not done. Nothing in this world." He returned her look. "Making you a flight leader was not one of my mistakes." He reached out and ran his long fingers over the throttle. "One time, long ago, I was made a flight leader too. It was in desperate times. But I had friends, Lieutenant. Good friends. We didn't trust each other at first, but gradually it came. Trust, loyalty, and respect—these things must be earned." He took another drink of coffee. "'Comradeship makes a man feel warm and courageous when all his instincts tend to make him cold and afraid.'"

"Pretty good words."

"Not mine. But yes, pretty good words." He leaned on the cockpit rim. "Lieutenant Schnee is going to be a problem for you, yes. Now. How are you going to solve it?"

Ruby rested her head on the seat's padding. "Apologize to her. Tell her I'm going to do better. Ask her to be patient."

"A good start. I'll leave you to it." He clambered down the ladder, and held up his coffee mug to her. "Besides, I need a refill."

* * *

Weiss ate an early dinner alone, at the base cafeteria. Normally, the flights would dine together, but she was in no mood for company. Then she went to the library, found an empty computer, and typed out both papers for Port. World War I was something of her forte, and she enjoyed writing on the subject.

Papers inside a new binder, Weiss began the walk back to the female officers' quarters in the cold dusk. There was going to be a confrontation with Ruby—or her sister, Weiss ruefully admitted. Yang was a good older sister, and Weiss knew all about older sisters. Ruby undoubtedly had told Yang what Weiss had said, and while the German girl didn't _think_ Yang would risk her career by beating the living hell out of Weiss, it was still a possibility.

Abruptly the sound of trumpets brought Weiss out of her thoughts. She had been to American bases many times, and knew the routine. Everyone outside stopped in place, turned and faced the flag in the center of the quad. Already a group of people were gathered beneath the flagpole. As the plaintive sounds of "Taps" began, Weiss set down her binder, came to attention, and saluted as the Maple Leaf and Stripes was taken down. She held the salute until the daily ceremony was complete. It always fascinated her how the same tune played to signal the fall of night was the same played over burials. Weiss understood tradition, though.

Once the flag was folded and the last note faded away into the Wisconsin night, Weiss picked up her binder and entered the dorm. She was about to go upstairs to Ruby Flight's room when she heard an English-accented voice exclaim "Leave me alone!"

Weiss turned down the hallway. Standing against one wall was Flight Officer Velvet Scarlatina, staring up defiantly at Cardin Winchester, who towered over her. Her ears—her rabbit ears—were flattened back against her head. Weiss knew enough about Faunus to know that signaled agitation. Her books were scattered on the floor. Cardin was grinning down at her, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, come on now, silly wabbit. All I asked was a simple question." The grin disappeared. "And I want an answer, _Flight Officer._" He heavily emphasized her rank, and put both hands on either side of her, keeping Velvet from escaping.

That was enough. Weiss did not particularly like Faunus, but regulations were regulations, and in any case, Cardin was a few inches from being charged with assault. "Captain Winchester!" she said loudly and clearly. "What is going on here?"

Cardin scowled and turned to her. "None of your business, _Lieutenant._" He emphasized Weiss' rank as he had Velvet's.

Weiss suppressed a sigh. She knew Cardin Winchester's kind—male and female. Some people promoted to higher rank assumed that higher rank made them somehow smarter and better, that it compensated for other flaws. Every service, every branch had Cardin Winchesters. "Very well, Captain," Weiss said calmly. "But I should mention to the Captain that it is after dark, and the Captain is in the female officers' quarters. Unless the Captain has a pass, the Captain is in breach of United States military regulations. Does the Captain have a pass?"

Cardin's scowl deepened. "What are you, the damn hall monitor?" Weiss kept her face placid. Finally, Cardin dropped his arms and walked away, out the front door.

Weiss went over to help Velvet pick up your books. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," Velvet said angrily. When Weiss reached out for a book, Velvet's hand came down on it. "Thank you for your help, Leftenant Schnee, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself. And with all due respect, I especially don't want _your_ help." She gathered up her books and stood.

"I don't understand." _Is it because I'm German?_ Weiss thought. Memories were long in Europe.

"You're a Schnee. I'm a Faunus. Do I have to spell it out?" Velvet turned her back on Weiss and walked away down the hall.

"What was Captain Winchester's question?" Weiss called out.

Velvet paused. Her ears shivered. She looked over her shoulder. "Why Faunus are even allowed here at Beacon. Good night, Leftenant." She entered her dorm room and slammed the door.

* * *

Downcast, Weiss entered her own dorm room. Her eyes immediately went to Yang's bunk. It was empty. So was Blake's. Weiss sighed and set her binder down on the small desk. She heard soft snores coming from Ruby's bed above hers, and drew back the blanket. Ruby, in her pajamas already, was sound asleep, her head resting on a book, fingers loosely curled around a pencil resting on a notebook. Other books were scattered on her pillow. Weiss reached out and gently pulled a book away from Ruby's mouth before she drooled on it. She looked down at the page Ruby had opened to. A handsome young man dressed in the service uniform of the Imperial German Air Service, the Luftstreitskrafte: Werner Voss.

Weiss knew Voss' story. At the age of 20—a year younger than Weiss—he had already shot down 48 Allied aircraft, but his end came in September 1917. He had engaged eight British fighters, every one of them piloted by an ace, and after an epic eight-minute dogfight, was finally killed. Voss had fought bravely and with amazing skill, but ultimately, he had been alone.

_Like me._ The thought jumped unbidden into Weiss' head, and she understood what Wing Commander Port was trying to say.


	13. Carnival of the Animals

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yep, more talky. The next chapters get more action-y, I promise. However, it's time to see how the Faunus exist in a world with no magic. At least, no magic that we know of..._

_This chapter (and another one yet to come) was inspired by a question I had when I was watching the first season of RWBY: why didn't the other members of Team RWBY figure out Blake was a Faunus long before they did? _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 April 2001_

Ruby's nose wrinkled, and her eyes fluttered open. She realized two things in quick succession: one, that she had fallen asleep studying, and two, that Weiss was standing there with a mug of coffee. "_Guten abend,"_ Weiss said.

Ruby yawned. "Oh…oh, man. I must've fallen asleep."

"You did. Coffee? How do you take it?"

Ruby shook her head. "Ah…with cream and five sugars."

Weiss' eyes rounded. "Good Lord. It's a wonder your head hasn't exploded." She crossed over to the coffee machine some brilliant person had installed in all the dorm rooms, next to the room's small but efficient refrigerator. She loaded Ruby's coffee with the requested amount of cream and sugar, then poured herself a cup, with just a small amount of cream. After handing Ruby her cup and pulling up a chair, the two women faced each other.

It was Ruby who spoke first. "Weiss…I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't act very mature today. I need to do better. Can you help me?"

Weiss was unable to stop a smile. Ruby's apology was heartfelt, and said in such a small voice that it made her look more childlike, not less. Weiss allowed herself a small moment of triumph, but heard Port's words echoing in her head—and Velvet's as well. "I will, Ruby. And, to be honest…I have not acted very well either. I have been…" Weiss hesitated, then plunged on. "Spoiled. I have not acted like an officer and a lady myself. I forgot that being a Schnee does not automatically make me right."

"I don't even know what that is." Ruby shrugged. "A Schnee, I mean."

Weiss leaned back in her chair, and relaxed without even realizing it. "That may be a good thing, Ruby." She took a good draught of coffee. It was good for instant—strong, and bitter. "Maybe we can help each other."

Ruby laughed. "I think that's what we're supposed to be doing."

"Just so." Weiss motioned at the empty bunks. "Where are Yang and Blake?"

"Blake said she was going to go work out at the gym for a bit. Yang got herself a pass and went clubbing." Ruby made a face. "Of course, she won't take _me_ along."

"Why not?"

Ruby turned a little red. "I'm…I'm not old enough to go into bars. The legal drinking age is 21 here, and I'm only 20."

Weiss nearly laughed, but her eyes fell on the book open on Ruby's bed, the one with Voss' picture. Suddenly Ruby's age was not very funny. "In Germany you would be fine." Weiss did laugh then, at the mental picture of Ruby with a beer stein bigger than she was. That reminded her of something. "Ruby," Weiss asked, "not to change the subject, but…what do you know about Faunus?"

Ruby sat up, feet dangling off the bed. "Just what we learned in school. I knew a few at Signal, though no pilots. Velvet's the first pilot Faunus I've ever met. Why?"

"You know what they are."

Ruby took a drink of coffee. "They're genetically engineered, right? Hybrids of humans and animals?"

"Exactly." Weiss took a drink herself, stood up, and looked out the window. "I know the United States—the old one—lost something like 15 million people in the Third World War." She glanced at Ruby for confirmation, but the other girl shrugged; history was not Ruby's strong suit. "The Soviet Union lost around 35 million. Europe lost an additional 25 million, from tactical nuclear exchanges, fallout and conventional warfare. Infrastructure and governments collapsed, or nearly did. And then the GRIMM showed up three years after the war ended, which killed millions more. We couldn't get help from the United States; they had their own problems. Europe was on its own.

"My home country, Germany, was torn in two after World War II, but World War III reunified it—what was left of it. But we were the front lines of the war against the GRIMM, and we needed soldiers, fast, before all of Europe was overrun." Weiss stared out over the darkened quad. "My grandfather had a solution, but it was a radical one: make soldiers."

Ruby nearly dropped her coffee. "Wait a minute. Are you saying—"

Weiss continued on as if Ruby had said nothing. "Nicholas Schnee was a geneticist. A brilliant one. He had been already working on genetic experiments before the Third World War, and his lab survived. By splicing animal and human DNA, he created the Faunus." She turned to Ruby, her voice quiet. "It made sense, yes? Faunus could be 'grown' into mature soldiers in three years, rather than fifteen or seventeen. All we as Germans—as Europeans—had to do was hold for that long. And we did. In 1968, Europe counterattacked with Faunus, and we were able to drive the GRIMM back from the Rhine to the Vistula."

"And made your grandfather a very rich man." Weiss whirled to see Blake Belladonna standing in the doorway, dressed in gym pants, a T-shirt with USMC stenciled across it, and a towel around her neck. "Good history lesson, Weiss. I'd love to hear the _rest_ of it sometime. Be sure to include the good parts about how the Faunus were used in that war."

Ruby heard the bitterness in Blake's voice. "Geez, Blake, are you okay?"

Blake stopped halfway to her dresser. "I'm all right." She regarded Weiss. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm tired. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, Weiss."

Weiss' face had flushed with anger, but she slowly exhaled. There was enough angry words in Ruby Flight for one day. "It's all right. You're not the first one to snap at me today, Blake." Weiss' eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize that talking about the Faunus upset you so."

Blake paused at her bedside. "Try growing up as the kid with yellow eyes." She chuckled ruefully. "Genetic disorder. I have some sympathy with the Faunus." She threw her towel into the hamper and pulled out fresh clothes and a new towel. "I'm going to shower. The showers at the gym are broken, unless I want to sneak over to the boys' room. Knowing my luck, that big asshole Cardin Winchester would be in there." She crossed over to the bathroom that they shared with the female members of Juniper Flight. "Hope Nora didn't use all the hot water thinking about Ren." Blake closed the door behind her and locked it.

Ruby finished her coffee, hopped off the bed, and put the mug in the sink. "So _that's_ why her eyes are yellow. I was thinking she was jaundiced or something." She laughed. "Okay, kidding about the jaundiced part." When Weiss did not say anything, Ruby walked back over to her. "Earth to Weiss. How are you reading this channel?"

Weiss blinked, then shook her head. "Sorry, Ruby. Just thinking." She continued to stare at the shower door.

"Of Blake in the shower?" Ruby teased as she hopped back on her bed.

"What? No!" Weiss turned red. "That's preposterous."

"Hey, don't ask, don't tell."

Weiss' retort was cut off by the door slamming open to admit Yang. She was dressed in slacks, a T-shirt that showed far too much cleavage for an officer of the United States Air Force, and a battered brown flight jacket, covered in patches. She sported a black eye, disarrayed hair, and a broad grin. Ruby leaned out from her bed. "Holy shit, Yang! What happened to you?"

Yang jumped up on top of her own bed. "Bar fight." She said it in the same tone of voice one might describe going to the corner store. "You should see the other couple of guys." She motioned at Weiss' mug. "Got some more of that? I could use a shot of something strong."

Weiss went over and poured Yang the rest of the coffee. "You already look like you already had something strong."

"What? I only had two beers. Just some PBR. Like Uncle Qrow used to say, stuff's like sex in a canoe—"

"Don't say it," Ruby cut her off.

Weiss handed her the cup as Yang took off her boots. At Weiss' expression of distaste, Yang pointed to the bruise. "Oh, this? Lucky hit, that's all."

"It's nothing compared to what Captain Ozpin will do when he finds out you were in a bar fight," Weiss warned.

Yang tossed back a third of the coffee. "But he's not gonna know, is he, Weiss?" Yang shrugged. "Look, some guy got a little fresh so I let him have it. Then his friends got involved. I defended myself. End of story." She drank more coffee. "You gonna rat me out, Weiss?"

Weiss sat on her bed. Technically, Yang was guilty of breaking several regulations. She had been on a pass, true, but that pass did not give her permission to get into fights with the locals. Despite Yang's claims of self-defense, Weiss was fairly decent at spotting lies; she had a feeling Yang had thrown the first punch as well as the last. _ My sister would turn Yang in,_ she thought. _She would say Yang broke the rules, therefore she must be punished. _Weiss returned Yang's stare. "No," she replied simply.

Yang's grin returned. "I knew you wouldn't. The flight always sticks together. Now what's this I hear about 'don't ask, don't tell'?"

Ruby snickered. "Weiss was thinking about Blake in the shower!"

"I was _not!"_

The door to the bathroom opened, admitting the subject of the conversation, wearing her pajama robe. "You weren't?" Blake sighed elaborately. "I'm devastated, Weiss. And here I thought we had something." Her voice was dry as a desert. "Hi, Yang. Have fun?"

"Ugh." Weiss got up, took Yang's proferred mug and her own, went to the sink, and washed all three cups. But she couldn't help but smile and look over her shoulder. Yang was animatedly telling Blake about the bar fight; Weiss noticed that a 'couple of guys' now multiplied to half the town. Blake's expression was one of faint amusement. Ruby was listening intently, eyes wide, leaning forward, hands on her knees, looking all the world like a little girl listening to a fairy tale.

* * *

Later, after lights out, Weiss rolled over in her bed, unable to sleep. Above her, Ruby had managed to finish her paper—with a little help—and was silently sleeping. So was Blake. Yang made up for all of them by snoring like a bent chainsaw. Weiss reached onto the shelf and pulled out her CD player and earbuds, hoping that Tchaikovsky would drown out the noise.

It wasn't just Yang that was keeping Weiss from sleep, however. As she put the earbuds in, she stared at Blake's prone form beneath the covers. The girl's back was to her, and her long, black hair was pinned up for the night, in the everpresent bow. Weiss thought to herself that she had never once seen Blake without it. Blake had mentioned the bow to be a good luck charm, but this was going to extremes.

Weiss switched on the CD player and sighed. Yang was not the only one who had been lying this night.


	14. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Finally some flying! Let's get back in the air in this chapter._

_Incidentally, the dogfight between Cardin and Jaune in this chapter did actually happen at Top Gun back in the 80s. The instigator was the infamous "Hoser" Satrapa, he of the taking so many personal weapons into combat his F-8 had to leave ordnance behind. Hoser later became a legendary Top Gun instructor (Jester of Top Gun was based loosely on him), and was nearly retired from the Navy when his homemade 20mm hunting rifle (!) blew his thumb off._

_As always, enjoy and R&R. I really appreciate the amazing feedback I've gotten on this story. It makes my day.  
_

* * *

_Building 92613 (Vytal Flag Threat and Exercise Briefing Room A)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 April 2001_

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hop Two." Glynda Goodwitch stood on the stage alone this time. "As we said at the beginning of this exercise, Vytal Flag will consist of both classroom instruction and actual flight time. You had your first class yesterday with Wing Commander Port, so now you will have another mission." She smiled thinly at the cheers from the fighter pilots. "However, not all of you will fly today." Her smile broadened a little at the groans that announcement brought.

A slide came on the overhead. It was similar to the map shown before Hop One, but this one showed the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, northern Wisconsin, and Lake Superior in more detail. "Today we will be engaging in the essence of air combat—1V1. One versus one." She nodded at the audience. "Single combat.

"In any dogfight, big or small, it will always come down to 1V1. Even if you have 28 GRIMM or 30 air pirates on you, only one can truly get on your tail at a time. It will always be, in a way, 1V1. Master the 1V1 dogfight, and you will master air combat."

Goodwitch faced the audience. "Today it will be Juniper Flight versus Cardinal Flight. You will be flying over the Yooper Range. Naturally, your aircraft will be unarmed. Each aircraft will be carrying an instrumentation pod on a wing station." She switched to another slide. This showed a three-dimensional schematic of the range, with tiny models of each aircraft and their flight paths. "The instrumentation pods will transmit your aircraft's data back to our central computer here, and the rest of us will be able to watch your battles live. Hard deck for this hop is 6000 feet AGL. If you break the hard deck, you had better be out of control, because otherwise I will break you. In half. These rules exist for your safety. We need all the pilots we can get, and if you do some damned fool thing like dive below the hard deck to get a kill, you will find yourself in a 1V1 battle with the ground. And the ground always wins those fights."

Behind Ruby Flight, Nora Valkyrie snickered and leaned over to Lie Ren. "Not true! I hit the ground once in my A-10. No big deal," she whispered. Ren quietly shushed her before Goodwitch noticed.

The lieutenant colonel put her hands behind her back. "Ladies and gentlemen, when you fight GRIMM, you are essentially fighting robots. Here, in these exercises, you are fighting flesh and blood sentient beings. GRIMM are programmed, and their programs can be disrupted. Humans and Faunus are a different story. Your enemy will do the unexpected. You are a target from the moment you leave the ground. I have buried too many friends who tried to use the same tactics we use against the GRIMM against actual pilots, and thought that, just because they were good against drones meant that they were good against everything else." Another short, crisp nod. "Juniper Flight, Cardinal Flight, here are your opponents."

Another slide flashed onto the board.

_Russel Thrush (CRDL) (F-16C) vs. Pyrrha Nikos (JNPR) (F-16C)_

_Dove Bronzewing (CRDL) (CF-18A) vs. Lie Ren (JNPR) (J-10)_

_Sky Lark (CRDL) (Hawk 200) vs. Nora Valkyrie (JNPR) (A-10A) _

_Cardin Winchester (CRDL) (F-15C) vs. Jaune Arc (JNPR) (Mirage 2000C)_

"Juniper Flight, Cardinal Flight," Goodwitch told them, "man your planes. Everyone else will remain here. Good luck, ladies and gentlemen. As Captain Ozpin said, just remember—at the end of the day we are all on the same team."

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 April 2001_

"You have such a badass plane, Pyrrha." Jaune ran his hands over the nose of her F-16.

Pyrrha, under the nose in the middle of preflight, came out from beneath it. "It is really something. I've flown everything my country has, but I think I like the F-16 the best." She motioned at Jaune's Mirage across the taxiway. "But there's nothing wrong with the Mirage, Jaune."

"Oh, I know."

"Nervous?"

"Me?" Jaune laughed, a little too loudly. "Oh, heck no. I can take Cardin in my sleep."

Pyrrha smiled. "Just remember that the F-15 is superior to your Mirage, except that you are smaller. The F-15 is much faster, better at ranged combat, has a better turn rate, and has at least a radar equal to yours."

Jaune slumped. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better."

Pyrrha poked him in the chest. "Think! You are _smaller_. Use that to your advantage. Get Cardin in close. He's arrogant. Play to that. Ambush him. Don't play by his rules. Make him fight the way _you_ want to fight."

"Yeah? How are you going to fight Russel?"

"We both fly the same type of aircraft, but he is not as experienced as I am. I will use that to my advantage." Pyrrha put on her helmet. "Jaune, you just wrote a six-page paper on the Dicta Boelcke lat night. Remember those rules."

"So will Cardin."

"Will he?" She held up a hand for a high-five.

Jaune returned it. "Luck."

Pyrrha shook her head. "Skill."

* * *

Minutes later, they were in the air. By the rules of the exercise, Jaune and Cardin would fly together to the range area. They would fly in a spread formation. Neither would start with an advantage.

Jaune glanced over to Cardin's F-15. It looked predatory in its gray camouflage; on the tail was a golden eagle, wings spread. It did not quite have the same capacity or stealthiness as Yang's Silent Eagle, but in this kind of fight, it did not need to. Jaune swallowed nervously. He really was outclassed here, in more ways than even Pyrrha knew.

"Jaune, Cardin. Go channel three."

The call surprised Jaune. Other than routine radio checks, Cardin had said nothing to him, not that Jaune expected him to. He switched radio frequencies. "Jaune here. Reading you five by."

"Cool. Jaune," Cardin said in a friendly tone, "let's do this the old fashioned way. My '15 outclasses you in distance combat especially, and that's not fair—especially for a 1V1 fight. Guns only. No missiles." As Jaune looked over, he saw Cardin reach up over his instrument panel as if he was cocking two imaginary machine guns, the way they would have in World War I.

"Sure. Thanks, Cardin."

"No prob, buddy. I'm already a Weapons School grad; I don't have anything to prove. Like Goodwitch said, we're all on the same side." They returned to the main frequency.

"Jaune, Cardin, this is Range Control." It was the voice of a controller on the ground beneath them, somewhere in the forest of northern Wisconsin. "You are cleared in for a 1V1 fight. Hard deck is 6000 feet AGL. No air traffic in your zone. You are to start head to head, but if at any time you lose sight of each other, you are to call 'no joy' and both aircraft will break off. You are not to approach to within 200 feet of each other for any reason. If either of you suffer any sort of mechanical failure, you are to call 'knock it off,' climb to 25,000 feet, and return to Beacon." He acknowledged the order, as did Cardin. "Good luck, gentlemen. Cardin, you will come in from the north. Jaune, circle and maintain your current position."

"Roger." Jaune put his Mirage into a wide circle and watched as Cardin hit his afterburners. His F-15 shot forward and was soon just a dot on the horizon. Jaune took his eyes off Cardin for a moment to check his instrument panel and the position of the sun. He had an idea.

"Jaune, Cardin…fight's on," the controller called. The duel had begun.

Jaune immediately slammed the throttle forward and climbed hard, putting himself upsun. A quick check of his radar, then of the horizon. _There he is!_ The F-15 made a big target as it turned to engage, its gray camouflage now working against it as it was visible against Lake Superior. Jaune eased back on the throttle, rolled level, and prepared to dive. He would be almost invisible against the sun: while Cardin was vainly trying to pick up the Mirage, Jaune would be past him in a quick gun pass.

"Cardin, Fox Three."

Jaune was startled. _But…Fox Three is missiles! This is gun only—_

"That's a kill. Jaune is a mort," Range Control said. "Knock it off, Jaune and Cardin."

Jaune leveled off, more from muscle memory than because he was paying attention. A mort meant that, had this been real combat, his Mirage 2000 would have been blown apart by Cardin's AMRAAM shot, and Jaune would likely be very dead—_mort_ in French.

Cardin flew up alongside Jaune. Jaune did not bother changing frequencies. "Cardin, what the hell? You said guns only!"

"Shit, Jaune, I'm sorry," Cardin said. "Just instinct. My fault. Range Control, Cardin, can we set up for another run? I kind of lost my head there."

There was a pause. "Sure, Cardin. Reverse positions—Jaune is in from the north."

"Roger that." Jaune angrily accelerated his Mirage to the north, and made a punishing seven-G turn to get into position. He calmed himself down. _Take it easy, Jaune. We're used to taking missile shots. Cardin probably got all excited. It happens to the best of us._

"Fight's on," Range Control called out. This time, Jaune remained straight and level, but once more went into afterburner, going straight at Cardin in a fangs-out, scream and leap offensive designed to rattle the American pilot.

"Cardin, Fox Three."

"What the _fuck?"_ Jaune screamed in French.

"Cardin has the kill. Jaune is a mort," Range Control sighed. "Knock it off, Jaune and Cardin." There was a pause. "Both of you are instructed to RTB. Cardin, you will return visually, at your discretion. Jaune, you will fly instruments on the way back." Jaune gritted his teeth. He'd heard about this tradition at Beacon. Losers were forced to fly slow and on instruments on the way back as punishment for losing a fight. It meant that the winner would be on the ground for at least five minutes before the loser, giving the winner enough time to start bragging. And he had no doubt that Cardin would be doing a lot of bragging.

"Cardin, Jaune. That was twice," he growled to the other pilot. "I trusted you!"

"Trust is down, kill ratio is up, Jaunie-boy. See you later." Cardin waved at him, engaged his afterburners, and was gone.

* * *

_Building 10313 (Officers' Mess)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 April 2001_

"And there I was," Nora Valkyrie said, dropping her voice dramatically as she leaned over the lunch table. "Sitting right at the hard deck at six thousand feet. Above me? There was Sky Lark, in his Hawk 200! Little plane with a bite, the maneuverability of a Hawk trainer, the radar of a F-16! He far outclasses me!" She broke off to slam back half a can of soda. "So I radioed him. I said, 'Lieutenant Lark of the Royal Malaysian Air Force! If you have the courage of your ancestors, you will come down and fight me like a man!' And he replied, 'I shall not, gallant antagonist, Lieutenant Nora Valkyrie of the great United States Air Force! Instead, you must duel me, ere in the fashion of the knights of yore!'"

All eyes of Ruby Flight went to Lie Ren, sitting next to her—even Blake, who peered at him over her book. He shook his head. "That is not what happened."

Nora rounded on him with a fork. "It _is_ what happened!"

"No, it's not," Ren insisted. "You said, and I quote, 'If you got any balls, Lark, come on down!' And he said, 'I'm not stupid, Nora, you've got that damned thirty millimeter! You come up here!' And you two did that for half an hour until Range Control told you to knock it off and RTB." He turned back to Ruby Flight. "And she still kept trying to get behind him on the way back to Beacon. That poor man will be having nightmares of Nora's gun filling his rearview mirrors."

Nora shrugged. "That's what he gets for calling my airplane ugly!"

Yang laughed. "So that's what you were doing. The range computer back in the auditorium had no idea what was going on. We saw Pyrrha win."

"That was cool," Ruby gushed.

Pyrrha folded her hands over her plate. "It wasn't that difficult. Russel is somewhat new to the F-16. He was trying to fight me in the horizontal plane. Easy mistake for somewhat inexperienced pilots. So I went into the vertical, and that was that."

Weiss motioned at Ren. "And you, Ren? How was Captain Bronzewing?"

Ren nodded. "Quite good, considering the age of his aircraft. You probably saw the fight. We got into a vertical scissors. He forgot that my stall speed is lower, I forced him out in front, and, as Pyrrha said, that was that. But he's quite the skilled opponent. I would not underestimate him."

The table went quiet after that. Neither Juniper nor Ruby Flight wanted to look at Jaune, who was picking at his salad. Finally, he broke the silence. "I got smoked. I think that's the American term." He put down his fork. "Twice."

Ruby reached across and put her hand on his wrist. "It's okay, Jaune. It happens to everyone, right? No one _always_ wins these simulated fights—that's kind of the point. We're learning."

Pyrrha regarded him. "Jaune, did you talk to Colonel Goodwitch?"

"I did. She said 'Cardin did not break the rules. There are no rules in air combat. You naively believed him and deserved what you got." Jaune put his head in his hands. "And you know something? She's right."

Blake returned to her book. "Lie, cheat and steal in the cockpit. Leave chivalry at home in your locker with your dress blues." Weiss gave her a dirty look, and Blake gave one right back. "I'm not wrong, Weiss. Up there, chivalry will get you killed."

Ren wore an amused expression. "No knights of the air, Blake?"

"No," Blake replied. "There never were knights of the air. Manfred von Richthofen once said that nine out of ten of the 80 men he shot down never saw him coming. I believe he referred to himself as a murderer. Which is what _we_ are. The sooner we realize it, the better fighters we become."

Weiss continued to stare daggers at her, while Ruby was shocked. Yang just chuckled. "Well, aren't you just the cheerful son of a bitch, though?"

* * *

Blake set her book down, but if she was going to laugh with Yang or attack her would never be known, as the table was distracted by one Cardin Winchester and his latest target—once more Velvet Scarlatina. He sat next to her, too close. "Hey, silly wabbit," they heard him say, not quite in a whisper.

"Leave me alone," she snapped.

"Aw, come on," Cardin grinned. "I'm not going to hurt you, wabbit. Just want to see if you've got a cotton tail to go with those ears." He leered at her.

"If you don't stop it—" Velvet began.

Cardin's flirting demeanor suddenly disappeared. "You'll do _what?"_ he said, raising his voice enough to turn heads. "You're alone in here, wabbit. There aren't any other Faunus around to save your bunny ass."

"That does it." Blake stood, walked across the table, and jumped down next to Velvet. "Captain Winchester, shut your mouth or I will do it for you."

He stabbed a finger at her. "You stay out of this, jarhead! This is between me and the bunny."

"Now it's between me and you," Blake warned.

Cardin took a step forward. "You like Faunus, jarhead? Yeah, I bet you do, with those yellow eyes of yours. You a Faunus, Belladonna? Where's your tail?"

Blake turned, repositioning her feet, slightly raising her hands, presenting a smaller target. "You want to go, zoomie? I'm your huckleberry."

The rest of Cardinal Flight, who had been sitting at a nearby table, stood up and walked over. "There a problem here?" Bronzewing asked. "I don't think you want to fight all of us, Belladonna."

Now Ruby Flight was on its feet. Weiss went around the table and was quickly joined by Ruby, but Yang leapt across the table. All three of them stood behind Blake now. "You mess with one of us, you scramble with all of us, fuckwit!" Ruby shouted. Blake looked back at her, astounded at the sudden profanity. Somehow it seemed wrong for Ruby to curse.

"We can take you girls." Cardin's fists were clenched.

Ren took up position next to Yang. "I'm not a girl, Captain. Perhaps you would like to reconsider?" The rest of Juniper Flight—except for Jaune—was on their feet. Other flights were also standing up, though more to watch than get involved.

"Attention on deck!" someone called out. Automatically, everyone in the room came to attention. Glynda Goodwitch strode over to the table. "What is going on here?" she demanded.

"Ma'am." It was Weiss that spoke. "Captain Winchester here made some racial comments towards Flight Officer Scarlatina. We decided to inform the Captain of his mistake and give him a chance to apologize."

"Is that what happened?" Goodwitch turned to Velvet, who had ended up at the end of the table opposite from where she had been.

Velvet fixed Cardin with a stare filled with hate. "Yes."

"Very well. Captain Winchester, Flight Officer Scarlatina, to my office. Now." She pointed to the door. Scarlatina, with one last murderous look towards Cardin, marched out. Cardin followed a moment later. Goodwitch nodded to the rest of them. "Captain Ozpin and I handle the administrative punishments around here, ladies and gentlemen. Am I clear?" A chorus of "yes, ma'am"s answered her. "Good. Return to your duties. Most of you have class in five minutes." Goodwitch left.

The room gradually quieted. Cardinal and Ruby Flights watched each other for a moment. "Too bad," Yang smirked. "I was hoping we'd have a topless volleyball match to settle it."

It broke the tension, and everyone laughed. Bronzewing flexed. "Anytime, Yang Xiao Long. Name the sand pit and we'll be there. Especially if you're serious about the topless part."

The three flights drifted apart. Ruby abruptly remembered Goodwitch's remarks about class, and trays and silverware were rapidly cleared up as they headed for the exit. Only Pyrrha noticed that Jaune still sat at the table, alone.


	15. Under the Milky Way

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short chapter this time, but it's necessary. I'll make up for it by posting a new one on Sunday rather than Monday._

_Base Quad_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 April 2001_

Jaune Arc stared at the distant runway. The sun had set an hour before, but the night was alive with noise. Coffee Flight and Sake Flight were getting some nightfighting training in. As Wing Commander Port had pointed out in the afternoon class, the GRIMM weren't always so kind as to attack during the day, and air pirates loved the night. As he watched, Coco Adel's Mirage F.1 roared into the darkness, trailing purple flame from the afterburner.

"Jaune?"

He turned to find Pyrrha there. She wore civilian clothes; it occurred to Jaune that he had never seen her out of a flight suit or uniform. "Oh, hello, Pyrrha."

She walked next to him. "Any more openings in Jaune Flight?"

He laughed softly. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I was just trying to impress Weiss. And you," he added.

"You weren't in class today."

"Was Port angry?"

"I told him you weren't feeling well. Nora and Ren backed me up."

"Yeah. The flight sticks together. You mess with one of us, you scramble with all of us," Jaune quoted bitterly. "Except I didn't do that today. I should've jumped up with you and Ruby Flight. Hell, I should've been the first one out of my seat."

Pyrrha hugged herself and wished she had brought a jacket. Wisconsin's evenings were still cold in mid-April, and she was not exactly from a cold climate. "It's all right."

"It's _not_ all right!" Jaune suddenly yelled, though the words were drowned out by the roar of a Panavia Tornado taking off—Velvet and Fox Alasdair's aircraft. When the roar had faded to a rumble, he sat down on a bench. "It's not all right," he repeated. "I don't belong here."

Pyrrha frowned down on him. "Now _that's_ not all right. You were selected to come here. You heard what Captain Ozpin said the first day we were here."

"I wasn't selected." Jaune's voice was so quiet Pyrrha wasn't sure she had heard him.

"You weren't selected? Then why—"

Jaune shrugged. "I might as well tell you. Ozpin and Goodwitch are going to find out sooner or later; I might as well get it over with." He forced to meet her eyes. "Pyrrha, I'm not…I'm not a fighter pilot. Not per se."

She sat next to him. "I don't understand."

"I've flown the Mirage 2000, yes. But I'm a ferry pilot." He laughed without humor. "My job is to fly the planes from the Dassault factory to bases. All over—Lebanon, Algeria, Djibouti, and in France, of course. I've been to Greece, too—that's where I saw you once, from a distance. When I'm not ferrying aircraft, I tow targets for other pilots. But the other day? That was the first time I've ever been in combat." He scratched the back of his head and gave Pyrrha a wan smile. "Didn't wet the seat, though. I guess I must have some talent."

"Then how did you get here?"

Jaune sighed. "And here's where I get court-martialed. Oh well." He leaned back on the bench. "I'm also good with computers. Really good. I hacked into the air force computers and changed my orders. Next thing I know, I'm on my way to Vytal Flag, just like I've always wanted. I was so nervous when I got here that I had a panic attack. I had to declare an inflight emergency. I made up a bullcrap story about a glitch in the Mirage." He shook his head. "It was fun while it lasted, Pyrrha. After the fight with the Death Stalker, I thought maybe it was okay, that I had that edge. Then today Cardin played an easy trick on me, twice, and I fell for it."

"He's atrocious," Pyrrha growled. "I understand Colonel Goodwitch told him that the next time he screws up, he's out."

"Well, score one for Goodwitch. But I'm out too, Pyrrha. Before I get someone killed trying to defend my useless ass. I'll come clean to Ozpin. Maybe I can avoid jail." He let out a breath that steamed in the cool air. "I have an uncle who runs a vineyard in Provence. He can always use a hand."

There was silence for a few minutes. "I'll help you," Pyrrha said at length.

"No."

She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "I mean it. Jaune, you _have_ talent. Yes, Cardin played you a dirty trick today, but that was one mission! If you were useless, you would have died fighting that Death Stalker." She turned away from him. "At least you didn't freeze, like I did."

"Pyrrha, no. That has to stop." Jaune's voice was firm. "I appreciate it. I really do. But I don't want help." He stood up and dusted off the seat of his britches. "I wanted to be a hero. You know who I was named for, right?"

She nodded. "Jeanne d'Arc. Joan of Arc."

"France's greatest heroine. My family is actually distantly related to her—enough that we've served France for centuries. My great-grandfather lost a leg at Verdun. My grandfather flew fighters with the Russians after France was overrun by the Germans." Jaune chuckled. "He probably shot down Weiss' grandfather. Anyway, he died at Dien Bien Phu. My father died fighting the GRIMM invasion of the Low Countries. The Arcs have always served France. And here I was, towing fucking targets." He felt the anger and frustration build.

Pyrrha stood as well. She took two steps forward until they were face to face; she was not that much shorter than he was. Jaune wasn't sure if Pyrrha was going to kiss him or punch him. In the end, she did neither. "I will not accept that, Jaune. Do you want to know a secret? _My _secret? Why I didn't want command of the flight?" Before he could agree one way or the other, she continued. "I lost my whole squadron over Crete, Jaune. I was the only one who came back. I was hailed as a hero, as the only Greek pilot to ever score ten kills in a single day. But it came at the price of _everyone_ I knew and loved. And…I did things. Things I'm not very proud of." She turned away again, but not before he saw the emotion on her face. "I still can't talk about that. But that's my deep dark secret." She poked him, hard. "So now we're even. I'm not going to tell Ozpin or anyone else about you. I _am_ going to help you become the hero you want to be. And I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"But why? Why me?"

She stepped back. "All right, you cheated your way in here. But you _are_ here. You stay and learn, and you will make your family proud." She shivered again. "It's too damned cold out here, so I'm going in. I expect to see you in the morning, Jaune. And if I don't, I will hunt you down, like Electra." Without another word, Pyrrha turned and walked towards the female officers' quarters. He could see her shoulders shaking, and not entirely with cold.

* * *

Jaune stood there, torn between following her and continuing to stare at the flightline. He was suddenly seized with a strong desire to put his arm around those shoulders. Then a voice stopped him. "Oh, Jaune…"

He turned to see a figure walk around from behind a wide tree. "I couldn't help but overhear you two from behind the tree. So you sneaked into Beacon, huh? I have to say, Jaune, I never expected you to be such a rebel."

"Weiss?" Jaune felt his jaw drop as the German girl walked into the amber light of the streetlamp. He put his hands up. "Please, Weiss, _please_ don't tell anyone!"

Weiss put a hand between her breasts in a show of shock. "Me? Tell anyone? Please, Jaune, I would not rat out a friend." She walked closer to him. "Your secret is safe with me, Jaune."

"That's good—"

"As long as you help me." Weiss smiled prettily up at him, and thoughts of Pyrrha's shoulders fled. "You said you're good with computers."

"Er, yes—"

"Good. Then I won't tell a soul about your little stunt with the computers to get here, so long as you can do it again."

"What?" Jaune felt he was now truly in over his head.

"Yes, Jaune of Arc. I need you to hack into Beacon's computers." Weiss' smile had faded. "I want you to help me find everything we can on Blake Belladonna."


	16. For Whom the Bell Tolls

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: As promised, a nice, long, early chapter for everyone. This chapter might as well be titled "Cardin Gets His."_

_I had the idea for the scramble scene ever since I saw Ruby's Rube Goldberg bed setup. The story of "Suds" is based on a real incident at Bitburg back in the early 1980s (though the pilot was male). Written fanservice doesn't really translate well, so you'll have to use your imagination, you ecchi.  
_

_And yes, Joey Belladonna really *was* the lead singer of Anthrax. Amazing what you find on Wikipedia. _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_15 April 2001_

The warning klaxon penetrated Weiss Schnee's brain a second before Ruby's scream. _"Active air scramble!"_

Weiss sat up instantly, and just as instantly cracked her skull on the bottom of Ruby's jury-rigged bed. She collapsed back to the pillow with a flood of horrible German curses. She tried to roll out of bed while holding a head that was suddenly filled with dwarf miners armed with dynamite, only to be hit in the face with a pair of rose-decorated pajama bottoms. Finally, Weiss made it to the floor, knees first, and angrily threw the pajamas out the window.

"C'mon, Weiss!" Ruby was already zipping up her flight suit. Weiss shakily stood and was hit in the face again, this time with her own flight suit. She snatched it off her head; it had been thrown by Blake, who was pulling on her own flight suit over her fatigues. The bathroom door burst open as Yang ran out, tossing her towel; this time, Weiss was able to avoid getting hit in the head a fourth time. Naked and with her hair streaked with shampoo, Yang grabbed her flight suit out of the closet, fell to the carpet, and began writhing into the flight suit. With another oath, Weiss stripped off her nightdress and pulled on hers.

They piled out of the room and headed for the stairs, Ruby bouncing on one foot as she tried to pull on a boot and run at the same time; Weiss continued to curse as one of her arms got stuck; Yang added her curses to Weiss' as she finally got the flight suit over her chest, only for shampoo to stream into her eyes. Only Blake seemed to be ready to go: Weiss noted with disgust that Blake's bow was perfectly tied atop her head. Ruby Flight half-fell down the staircase behind Pyrrha and Nora: Weiss saw that Pyrrha's hair looked like Medusa's, while Nora had put her flight suit on backwards.

Somehow, they all reached the front door, where a converted bread truck painted USAF blue squealed to a halt on the sidewalk. Ren and Jaune helped pull and push the girls into the back as it raced off. It took only two minutes to reach the flightline, and it barely slowed down for each pilot to jump off the back when they passed the hardstand for their aircraft. Crew chiefs and ground crew were waiting with helmets; as the pilots ran for their aircraft, they could see the ordnance people frantically loading missiles and gun ammunition.

Just as Ruby settled into the cockpit of _Crescent Rose,_ the loudspeakers clustered around each hardstand came to life with a screech. "Attention, attention, all personnel. This is a drill, this is a drill. Stand down from scramble. Ground crews, offload and secure all ammunition. Pilots, report to Auditorium A."

Ruby blew out a breath. "Just a drill." She willed her heart to stop pounding. Air pirates never attacked military bases—at least not in North America—but GRIMM were known to do so on occasion. It was far more common out west, where the bases butted up against the Dead Zones. She accepted a hand out of the cockpit by her crew chief, who looked as relieved as she felt. It made sense: where Ruby could at least defend herself once in the air, the ground crew could only hope they could get to shelters in time, and those shelters weren't always bombproof.

She rejoined Yang and the others as the bread truck came back to pick them up and deposit them at Auditorium A. The jokes began as the pilots let off steam.  
"Bad hair day?" Yang grinned at Pyrrha.

"Look who's talking." Pyrrha pointed at Yang's hair. "Is that shampoo?"

"Yeah, I was in the shower. Got suds everywhere."

"'Suds' Xiao Long." Blake's mouth twitched into a smile. The entire truck burst into laughter.

"Suds, break left!" Nora howled.

"Suds, Fox Three!" Ruby collapsed onto the floor of the van, her legs in the air.

Even Blake's reserve cracked, and she let out a girlish giggle. "There you go. Your new callsign."

Yang rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a blake."

That struck Weiss as uproariously funny. She was bent over at the waist, nearly screaming in mirth. Jaune saw his chance and leaned over. "Weiss, do you want to meet for dinner?" he said, quietly. It wasn't quiet enough—both Blake's and Pyrrha's heads turned at that—but most of the rest of the truck didn't notice. Still laughing, she nodded quickly. Jaune leaned back on the bench, a very satisfied smile on his face. Pyrrha's laughter faded, and though she kept smiling, it was an artificial one.

Ren noticed Pyrrha's expression, and decided to change the subject a little. "Weiss, how did you get that scar?" he asked as the truck pulled to a stop.

Weiss wiped a tear from her eye, and pointed to the scar over her left eye. "Oh, this? Heroically fighting off the last person to ask me for a date."

"Whoa, he was aggressive!" Nora tittered. She accepted Ren's help out of the back of the truck.

"No, actually…it was in training. I slipped getting out of my Typhoon and struck my face on the canopy rim."

Yang's eyes widened. "Oh God! That sounds like that would hurt like a son of a bitch."

"It certainly did!" Weiss tossed her hair back. She had not had time to do it up in a bun, and her hair fell to the small of her back. It also stood out at odd angles. "Worse than hitting my head on Ruby's bed this morning."

Ruby let out another peal of laughter. "That was funny!"

Weiss gave her a playful shove. "Not to me it wasn't, you little shit!"

"'Scar' Schnee." Blake struck a thoughtful pose. "Maybe that should be _your_ new callsign."

Weiss gave it a moment's thought. "It does sort of roll off the tongue. 'Scar'…I kind of like that."

They filed into the auditorium, still snickering and giggling. The other flights looked equally disshelved, and the good-natured joking continued. Cardinal Flight was noticeably left out. The laughter did not stop until Goodwitch, as usual dressed impeccably in her blue uniform, called them to attention. After they had sat, she nodded. "Good to see you're all awake." A chorus of groans and boos greeted that. "You did well. Aircraft were manned in ten minutes. We need to cut that down to seven, so expect to have more scramble drills. Flights will also start standing alert five readiness, which will begin tomorrow night." She saw Yang's hand go up. "Yes, Captain Long?"

"Suds!" Ruby yelled out.

"Colonel, can we have a 15-minute break to get cleaned up? A lot of us aren't really in uniform here."

Goodwitch shrugged. "Such things are normal in scramble situations, and some of you will be flying this afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am, but, well…I don't have a stitch on underneath this flight suit." Every eye in the auditorium suddenly locked on Yang (except for Ren's, because Nora grabbed his head). "And it's a bit nippy in this room, if you get my drift."

Goodwitch's eye twitched, and everyone could see that she was actually fighting off a laugh herself. "All right, Captain Long—20 minutes for anyone who needs to change. Bad hair days qualify."

* * *

Half the auditorium left, and were back in the alloted time—Nora with her flight suit on properly, Pyrrha and Weiss with their hair done up normally, and Yang with what Ruby hoped was some underwear on and her hair freshly combed. Goodwitch had spent the time looking terribly bored behind the podium, but perked up once everyone returned. "Good. Now that we are all settled, it is time for today's mission. This will be Hop Four, and will be another 1V1 mission over the Yooper Range." She clicked the remote, the lights dimmed, and the slide came up.

_Russel Thrush (CRDL) (F-16C) vs. Weiss Schnee (RWBY) (Typhoon)_

_Dove Bronzewing (CRDL) (CF-18A) vs. Yang Xiao Long (RWBY) (F-15SE)_

_Sky Lark (CRDL) (Hawk 200) vs. Blake Belladonna (RWBY) (F-14GS)_

_Cardin Winchester (CRDL) (F-15C) vs. Ruby Rose (RWBY) (F-16A)_

"Now some of these may look like considerable mismatches," Goodwitch said. "Sometimes you get the luck of the draw, and sometimes you do not. However, none of these should be considered a given. There is no such thing in air combat. We learned that in the skies over Cuba, over Vietnam, over China. The Hawk 200 may seem to have a considerable disadvantage to the F-14, but it is smaller, more agile, and harder to see. Remember to fight to the strengths of your aircraft, not to your opponent's."

Ruby wrote down navigational coordinates, safe bailout zones, and other assorted information she needed, but she was in automatic mode: her mind was already going over the coming dogfight. _Yeah, that's a mismatch for me, all right,_ she thought. _The F-15 has me in reach, and I bet Cardin's got the newer radar, which means no Cuban Turns for me. _The Cuban Turn was a nickname for a sudden horizontal turn that would cause older radars to suddenly lose lock. Older F-15s were vulnerable to it; newer ones were not. _He's got me in speed and altitude too. I got him close in, but technically Jaune did too, and Cardin ate him up. Yeah, the bastard sort of cheated, but he's still good. Hmm. C'mon, Ruby, how do you beat this guy?_

She was still thinking it over as she left the auditorium, collected her flight gear, and rode the truck back out to the flightline. Ruby only snapped out of it when she saw that _Crescent Rose_ had been parked across the taxiway from Cardin's F-15. His aircraft carried a bronze mace painted under the cockpit, but no name. As she pulled on her helmet, Ruby locked eyes with the big pilot. He had obviously been on his best behavior since getting chewed out by Goodwitch the day before, but now he made a throat-cutting gesture to her. Cardin did not smile. Evidently he knew that Ruby would not fall for the same "friendly" trick Jaune had.

After preflighting _Crescent Rose,_ Ruby climbed in and the crew chief helped her strap in. Once the canopy was closed, the outside world was closed off too. Ruby felt like she was home, as if when she was on the ground she was merely visiting. A ground crewman pulled the chocks from the wheels, and another gave her a splayed-hand "stop" gesture. Cardin taxied out first, sparing her a murderous glance as he turned onto the taxiway. Once the F-15 was clear, her ground crew motioned her out of the hardstand, directed her onto the taxiway, and snapped off a dazzling salute. Ruby returned the salute just as sharply, and turned to follow Cardin.

"Cardin, you are number one for takeoff on Runway 03 Right," Beacon Tower informed them. "Ruby, you are number two on Runway 03 Left. Check in with Beacon Approach after takeoff. Good luck."

"Roger that," Cardin said in a half-growl.

"Roger," Ruby repeated.

The F-15's afterburners lit with a roar that shook Ruby's F-16, even though it was on a parallel runway. It accelerated quickly and was off the runway halfway down, the landing gear quickly cycling up. Cardin executed a gentle climb and turn north towards the range. Once he was clear, Ruby pushed the throttle past the detent and her own afterburner lit off. She let off the brakes and over 23,000 pounds of thrust pressed her back in her seat. Armed with only the range instrumentation pod and an inert Sidewinder practice round, the F-16 was remarkably light and she was in the air in seconds. She raised the landing gear and stayed in afterburner as she made a hard turn to fall into trail with Cardin. Ruby was about to make a slight drift to the right to take up position on the F-15's wing when she suddenly had a devilish idea.

She let her afterburner go another second, then throttled back. Cardin had as well, and within half a minute, she was a mile directly behind him. She switched her HUD to air-to-air mode, got a lock, and spoke clearly. "Ruby, Fox Two on the F-15."

There was a pause, then Beacon Tower's controller cleared his throat. "Er…that's a kill, I think."

"_What?"_ Cardin yelled. He made a hard left break, but Ruby stayed with him. She was about to make another Fox call when a new voice came over the radio net, the range controller back at Beacon. "Kill confirmed. Cardin is a mort."

"You little shit!" Cardin pulled the turn tighter, but this was the kind of fight the F-16 excelled in, and Ruby remained where she was. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Cardin, Ruby, knock it off." Goodwitch's voice was now on the frequency. "Ruby, return visually at discretion. Cardin, orbit until cleared, and return on instruments."

Ruby couldn't resist. "Hey, Cardin. Trust is down, kill ratio is up." She waggled her wings at him as she flew past and returned to Beacon.

* * *

_The Wienerschnitzel_

_Tomah, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_15 April 2001_

"Shortest kill in Vytal Flag history," Weiss crowed. She leaned back in her chair, happy and proud of Ruby Flight. "Cardin complained about it, but Goodwitch upheld the kill on the basis that everywhere is a war zone. Ruby got some revenge for you, Jaune."

Jaune nodded, satisfied. In fact, he was satisfied in more than one way. Not only had Cardin gotten his comeuppance—and because of Goodwitch's warning, he could not take out his frustrations on anyone without immediate dismissal—but he, Jaune Arc, was on a date with Weiss Schnee. He had checked out a vehicle from Beacon's motor pool and drove Weiss to the nearest town to the base, Tomah. Jaune made sure to be on time, and to dress well: he wore civilian clothes, fashionable slacks and a white vest over his shirt. He had bought all of it from the base exchange as soon as Hop Four concluded for the day. Unfortunately, Weiss was not in the spirit of the date: she had on modest knee-length dress and a simple shirt. Still, she was there, in a chair, opposite from him, so Jaune considered it a win.

Their food arrived. Jaune was careful to find the only German restaurant in town. Weiss exclaimed happily over the jaegerschnitzel she ordered and dug in; prim and proper she might be, but Jaune had already noticed the German girl's big appetite.

Once she had put away the first half of the jaegerschnitzel, Weiss looked over her plate at Jaune, who was slicing into his bratwurst. "This isn't a date, you know."

Jaune paused with a knifeful of brat halfway to his mouth. "Sure, I know." It deflated him a little.

"So, what did you find?"

"How did your mission against Russel go?" Jaune wasn't quite ready to get to the meat of the moment, as it were.

"I smoked him." It had not been as easy as that, Weiss thought to herself, but she had remembered Pyrrha's advice that Russel had a tendency to not think in three dimensions. The American had given her a run for a minute or two, but one break too late and she had him. "Now tell me what you found, Jaune. I mean it."

He heard the threat in her voice. "All right," he sighed. The other reason he had chosen this restaurant was the low chance of running into any of the other pilots at Beacon. Most of the pilots looking for a little fun drove the extra few miles to Wisconsin Dells, or hit the college scene in Madison. "I didn't put anything down to paper." Weiss nodded, understanding the need for secrecy—or a paper trail, since technically both she and Jaune had just broken several American laws. As an added measure of security, they had been speaking French since they had placed their orders.

"So…Blake Belladonna. Born in 1977 in Great Britain." Weiss' eyebrows went up at that. "Emigrated to the United States at a young age, went to college at Kansas State University. Joined the US Marine Corps right out of college in 1998. Served a year in a line unit at Beaufort before being assigned to VX-4 at Patuxent River—the US Navy's air testing establishment. Then she came here to Beacon."

Weiss had devoured another third of her jaegerschnitzel while she listened. "That doesn't tell us much," she commented after Jaune had finished. "She doesn't have a British accent, but if she hasn't lived there since she was a child, she wouldn't have one." She leaned back in her chair and did some mental math. "Only three years in college, but Blake's certainly studious, so that's not surprising. I suppose that would mean she's very good, and she's certainly shown that." Weiss half-smiled. "After all that talk of Goodwitch's about mismatches not mattering, Blake blasted Sky Lark out of the sky within the first minute of 'fight's on.'" She shrugged. "Oh well. If that's all…"

"It's not," Jaune told her. "I did some digging. Kansas State put its student graduate list online last year. There's no listing of Blake Belladonna."

"Go on."

"There's also no listing of her in the base directory at Beaufort. _Or_ at Pax River. I mean, she was certainly there—she didn't steal the _Gambol Shroud_—but if she was, it was under a different name. All the stuff I told you was in Beacon's records, but it isn't in anyone else's. It's like Blake just appeared here as a fully grown US Marine Corps lieutenant."

"So it might not even be her real name." Weiss leaned her head on her hand in thought. "Why would Blake have an assumed name?" Weiss answered her own question. "Because she's hiding from someone, or someone's hiding her."

"There's one other thing." Jaune nibbled at his bratwurst, but his appetite wasn't as strong as he thought. This whole thing felt wrong, but it was either this or working in a vineyard. "I thought the British might have birth records online that I could look up. Well, I couldn't find those, but I went on Ask Jeeves to look up any Belladonnas in history."

"It means 'fair lady' in Italian…besides being another word for deadly nightshade poison. Yes, I speak Italian too, Jaune."

To her surprise, Jaune ignored Weiss' slight brag. "There were only two Belladonnas I could find. Joey Belladonna, the lead singer of Anthrax—"

"Who?" Weiss raised her glass of beer. She wasn't much of a drinker, but there was no way she was going to enjoy jaegerschnitzel without a cold glass of Loewenbrau.

"—and Ghira Belladonna…the current President of Menagerie and the former High Leader of the White Fang."

Weiss nearly spit her beer all over Jaune. She barely got it down and had a coughing fit in the process. Once she had caught her breath, she stared at Jaune, eyes wide. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. And I found a picture of Ghira too—a color one, one with his wife." Jaune couldn't meet her eyes. "If they're not Blake's parents, Weiss, I'll give you next month's salary. She's a dead ringer for her mother, minus the ears and the fact that Blake looks to be a bit taller…but everything else is the same, including the yellow eyes."

"My God." Weiss regarded her plate for a moment. "No wonder they're hiding her—whoever 'they' are. Who would think to look for the heir to the White Fang at an American airbase? Weird that they didn't give her a different name, though. Maybe they thought no one would make the connection." She nodded again, this time to herself. "That means Cardin was right. Blake's a Faunus. Explains the yellow eyes, and…" Weiss blinked. "…and the bow…"

Jaune chewed his bottom lip nervously. "So what are you going to do?"

"Confront Blake."

"Why?"

Weiss paused at that. It was a good question, and one that had been hanging out in the back of her mind for days. So what if Blake was Faunus? Velvet Scarlatina was Faunus, and Weiss had been prepared to fight for her, physically, the day before. Of course, that was more because Cardin Winchester was an arrogant ass than any particular like for Velvet. Nonetheless, Weiss had to ask herself the why of the matter, and she did not like the answer she came up with.

"Are you going to get her thrown out of Beacon?" Jaune steeled himself, and spoke clearly, if quickly. "Because you're going to have to throw me out with her."

Weiss fixed him with an icy stare. Jaune would never know that it was an act; Weiss Schnee had long ago learned to disguise her real emotions. "Why is that?"

"She's a good person, Weiss. And a good pilot."

"How do you know she's a good person?"

That took the wind from Jaune's sails. "Well…because she's…she's always been nice to me," he said lamely.

Weiss motioned for the waiter. "Get a box for your bratwurst, Jaune. I'm going to find out if she's a good person. I'll leave you out of it. You kept your end of the bargain, and I'll keep mine. Schnees always keep their word and pay their debts." As Jaune reached for his wallet, Weiss threw a credit card on the table. "This isn't a date, Jaune. I'll pay for it. After all, I'm a heiress."


	17. Fallen Angel

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here we go: the big confrontation. This is the longest chapter I've posted of this story, and honestly, it was the hardest to write. At times I'd get stuck on a sentence, and at times it felt like the characters were writing themselves. I hope I did a good job._

_Though this is a very serious chapter, there is a reference to RWBY Chibi. Man, I love that show._

_As always, thank you for the many views and kind reactions I've been getting. _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_15 April 2001_

Pyrrha Nikos watched from the window of the room she shared with Nora Valkyrie. On the walk below them, she saw Jaune walking Weiss up the sidewalk to the female officers' quarters. They paused at the entrance, then Weiss stood on tiptoe to kiss Jaune's cheek.

"Well, look at loverboy." Pyrrha nearly jumped out of the window in surprise. Nora leaned on the wall next to her. "Guess someone showed the Ice Queen a good time tonight."

Pyrrha turned away from the window. "Well," she said, trying and failing to put a light tone in her voice, "good for him. The poor man needed a break."

"Want me to break his legs?"

Pyrrha's eyes went wide. "What? _No!_ Nora, that's silly!" She plastered a smile on her face, which didn't fool Nora in the slightest. "I'm happy for Jaune."

"Uh huh." Nora pointed at her left hand. "You gonna use that spoon for something?"

"I was having dinner—" Pyrrha held up the metal spoon to her face. She had bent it in half.

* * *

Weiss had no knowledge of this, naturally, though the female half of Juniper Flight lived next door to Ruby Flight. As she reached their room's door, Weiss paused.

_Why do I want to do this? _she asked herself. _If I go through with this, it could cause some real trouble for the flight. Yang might resent me for doing it, and Ruby…poor Ruby. _Weiss considered just turning around, walking across the quad to the male officers' quarters, and telling Jaune to forget everything. _No,_ Weiss told herself, _the flight needs to know. Blake could have told us everything on the first night, when we all had dinner together, or back here. She at least could've told us she was a Faunus. Of course, then we would've made the connection between her and her father, but…still, she should have done it. _Weiss frowned. _It's not like my father is a paragon of virtue, but I don't hide who _I _am. And what if Blake is a threat to Beacon? A threat to _me?

Mind made up, Weiss opened the door.

* * *

Meanwhile, Blake Belladonna was in a near panic. Her hands were shaking, and much like Pyrrha, fought down an impulse to jump out the window. She looked under her pillow, under her bed, through the shelves of books, but it was gone. Out of the corner of one eye, Blake saw Ruby sitting up in bed, already in her pajamas, reading a book. A book with a black cover.

Ruby Rose was reading _Ninjas of Love_, and if she hadn't already found out that it was not about kamikazes nor World War II, she soon would.

Swallowing nervously, Blake took two steps towards Ruby's bed. "R-Ruby," she stammered, "is that my book?"

Ruby did not even look up from the book. "This is filth," she said. "Filth." She did not stop reading.

"Can I have it back?"

"Later."

Continued begging and assorted other acts unbecoming of an officer of the United States Marine Corps might have resulted, except that Weiss came through the door. It was not a dramatic entrance; Weiss merely walked in. Ruby barely spared the German girl a glance; Blake had a guilty expression on her face, which did not help Weiss' mood any. Weiss saw that Yang was not present, which was just as well. What Weiss had to say might upset Yang, and Yang Xiao Long tended to punch things that upset her.

Weiss was careful to check that the door was fully shut behind her, then walked over and sat on her bed. Blake's eyebrows beetled in confusion. "Weiss? Are you all right?"

"No." Weiss surprised herself at how little she wanted to do this now. Once more, she fought down the urge to simply leave, but Blake was looking at her with concern, and so now was Ruby. She took a deep breath. "Blake, we need to talk. Now."

"If this is because Blake reads smut…" Ruby said.

That surprised Weiss, but she resisted the urge to be distracted. "No. I wish it were as simple as that." She forced herself to look Blake squarely in the eyes. "Blake, why didn't you tell us you were a Faunus?"

Weiss' timing was perfect. Blake was not expecting that question in the least. Given some warning, she might have been able to come up with something, to deflect Weiss, but an already nervous Blake had no defenses. Her yellow eyes widened, her face went pale, and her mouth dropped open. "I'm…I'm not…"

"You _are!_" Weiss snapped, suddenly angry. "Quit lying to us, Blake!"

"Weiss, stop!" Ruby pushed aside _Ninjas of Love, _jumped down from her bed, and stared at both of them.

"No, Ruby. I'm sorry, but the lies stop now."

"She's not…" Ruby's voice trailed off as her eyes were drawn to Blake. Blake sat back on the bed, suddenly very small. The serene confidence that was her default expression was gone. Tears welled in her eyes, but she took a breath, composed herself, and slowly reached up to her bow. With a single movement, it was gone.

In its place were two black-furred ears, shading to white and pink on the inside.

Weiss, despite herself, recoiled from the sight. Ruby's eyes were so round that Weiss detachedly worried that they might pop out of the girl's head. Ruby let out a small gasp. "You're…Blake…Weiss is telling the truth?"

Blake did not look up. "Yes, she is," she whispered. The tears ran down her face to drip on her immaculate khaki pants. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ruby asked. She reached out a hand to comfort Blake, but drew it back, unsure of what to do next.

"I know why," Weiss said. "And it brings me no pleasure to say it." Once more, Weiss was surprised. In the car drive back from Tomah, she could think of little else but a triumphant revelation. She would expose Blake to the flight, get to the bottom of the Faunus girl's lies, find out why the Marine was not a Marine. What would happen next was up to Blake, but Weiss had run through every scenario from a tearful begging of forgiveness to outright assault.

But now she had the tears, and there was no feeling of triumph at all. Nevertheless, Weiss told herself, there was no turning back now. And she was still angry. "Blake Belladonna. The daughter of Ghira Belladonna, the chieftain of Menagerie…and the former head of the White Fang."

Ruby seemed ready to faint. "But that's…" Naturally, Ruby had heard of the White Fang—few humans had not. "Blake…?" Blake could only nod, the tears running down her face freely now. Ruby, her own eyes misty, turned to Weiss. "How did you know?"

"Never mind how I know."

Ruby leaned back against the dresser. She knew she needed to get back in command, but like Blake, she was too shocked. "Weiss, why are you doing this? You're not like Cardin, are you? You don't hate Faunus too, do you?"

_Am I? Do I? _ Weiss asked herself. She stood, staring down at Blake. "Of course not. Cardin is a bigot. I'm not." She rested her hands on her hips. "Though it's a wonder I'm not." At Ruby's look of horror, Weiss rounded on her. "You don't know what it's like, Ruby. The White Fang have attacked my family directly. They have it in for all humans, but the Schnees in particular. They've attacked my company everywhere they can. They tried to assassinate my father, and my sister. Can you imagine having to have armed security for you everywhere you go? At school? At an ice rink? Because your father is afraid that the White Fang will try to kill you to get to him?" Weiss' hands clenched into fists. Her brief feeling of sorrow for Blake now flipped back to anger. It was the ultimate betrayal: someone Weiss thought might be a friend was part of an organization who wanted her dead. "They're all liars, thieves, murderers and psychopaths!"

Suddenly Blake came off of her bed with enough speed that Weiss whirled to meet an attack and Ruby leaped backwards onto Weiss' bed. Blake's eyes blazed with yellow fire, her teeth were bared, and her ears were laid back—the latter the thing that frightened Ruby the most. "Shut your _fucking_ _mouth, Weiss!"_ She visibly fought control of herself, and stabbed a finger towards the German girl. "You want to know why the White Fang hate the Schnees so much? Why they became so radical? It's because your goddamn family _forced them to!"_ Blake forced herself to step back, though her hands were still raised in case Weiss took a swing. She looked past Weiss, to Ruby. "Remember the other night when you two were talking about the Faunus, and I asked to hear about the parts where the Faunus were used during the war with the GRIMM? Since you're in the mood to air someone's dirty laundry, Weiss, maybe you should start with your own family!"

"I'm in no mood to hear more of your damned lies, Blake!" Weiss shouted.

"But I am." Probably if Ruby had screamed the words, Weiss and Blake would have ignored her. It was said in such a quiet voice, into the angry silence, that it stopped both of the older girls. Ruby got to her feet and got between them. "I want to know."

* * *

"Weiss was right when she said that Nicholas Schnee 'made' the Faunus. We didn't ask to be born, but here we are." Both Ruby and Weiss noticed that Blake was now using the word _we._ "Yes, Schnee got his army. Yes, the Faunus helped save Europe from being overrun by the GRIMM. But what Weiss didn't mention is that we were used as cannon fodder. We were thrown into battle with minimal training, and got slaughtered by the thousands. Sure, we softened up the GRIMM so that the European Union armies could drive them back into the Russian Dead Zone, but it's said you could walk from the Rhine to the Vistula on Faunus bodies." It was Blake's turn to fix Weiss with an angry stare. "And Nicholas Schnee didn't just throw the Faunus into combat. Europe needed labor, too—a lot of it, to rebuild from the nuclear exchange of the Third World War. He sold us to the companies that needed it, at a very tidy profit. The Germans seem to be good at that sort of thing in the 20th century-"

"_Shut up!"_ Weiss exploded. "_Mein Gott!_ You just _had_ to throw the Nazis in my face, didn't you? My grandfather was no Nazi, Blake! Schnee GmbH employed the Faunus fairly. They were paid well and treated well, before and after the war!"

To Ruby's surprise, Blake did not snap back. She seemed calmer now, the rage under control. "Is that what your father told you, Weiss?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Weiss argued. "The White Fang tried to kill me, Blake!"

Ruby tried to step in again. "Hold on. I thought that the White Fang were a Faunus rights organization. At least that's what my dad used to say."

Before Weiss could answer, Blake spoke. "They were. _My_ dad founded them as such. But after he stepped down, they became more radical—"

Weiss snorted. "Oh yes, here's where the mean Schnees _forced_ them into it. That's the excuse of every radical, militant, insane organization ever, Blake—they were _forced_ into it."

"You're right."

It took a few moments to register on Weiss that Blake had agreed with her. "What?"

"You're right," Blake repeated in a small voice. "That's why I left." She stepped back and sat down on her bed. "When Dad left the White Fang, it was because he and Mom thought that it was losing its focus. We wanted equal rights, but there were some who…" A terrible rictus of pain crossed Blake's face, enough that even Weiss felt sorry for her. "Some who…some who didn't think equal rights were enough. They wanted revenge. They wanted to get back at the Schnees for using us during the war, and for slave labor." She put up a hand. "Hold on, Weiss. Let me finish—"

Weiss ignored her. "You got Menagerie, Blake. The EU gave the Faunus that."

"Yes, we got Menagerie," Blake replied bitterly. "What was left of Scotland after it was cut off from England by the nuclear attack in 1962. A nice little zoo for the animals."

Weiss snorted. "A rather rich zoo, considering the North Sea oil strike you—the Faunus found," she corrected herself, a touch too late.

"In spite of the Schnees, not because of them—"

"Guys!" Ruby exclaimed.

Blake sighed. "Sorry," she said—to Ruby, not Weiss. "As I was saying before you so crudely interrupted me, Weiss, there were some in the White Fang who didn't want equality. They wanted dominance. And God help me, I was one of them." She nodded at Weiss. "Yes, that's right. I wanted revenge too. I heard all the stories growing up, Weiss, and unlike you, I saw the physical evidence of it. Funerals. Bills of sale. Scars. A _lot_ of scars."

"No. That's another lie." Weiss was shaking her head. "Slavery's illegal in the EU. It's been illegal in Europe for 200 years."

Blake laughed humorlessly. "You think anyone was enforcing the law after 1962? When people were starving? Dying of radiation poisoning? Trying to rebuild after half of Europe got nuked? Besides, it's not like Faunus were people, right?"

Weiss braced herself against Yang and Blake's bed. She knew Ruby and Blake would think it was because she was trying to intimidate the latter, but in reality it was because she was now the one shaken to the core. _She's not telling the truth,_ Weiss told herself. _She can't be._ "Then why did you leave?" she said, her voice thick with anger and frustration. "Are you here to kill me, Blake? I'm a Schnee, right?"

Blake looked up at Weiss. They stared at each other for a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, Blake turned away, exposing her neck to Weiss. The latter knew enough of Faunus customs to know what Blake was doing. "I'm not here to kill you. Though the White Fang would certainly love it if I did. But that was never what I was here for." Her gaze returned to Weiss. "One morning, I woke up and realized that I was a terrorist." She nodded. "See, that's what _I_ was taught growing up, Weiss. Not by my father or my mother. Dad was a proud member of Her Majesty's Royal Marines. My mother was a RAF fighter pilot. The other Faunus, though—they taught me that your family _were_ Nazis. And then you realize that it's your bunch that's calling for ethnic cleansing and killing everyone you don't like—even other Faunus that won't buy into what the White Fang were selling. I realized that, however bad the Schnees might be, they weren't trying to kill children or blow up trains. All of a sudden, I realized that I was on the wrong side. Or at least, not on the right one" Blake hugged herself. "And that's when I left."

"Weiss, could you sit down?" Ruby asked. After a moment, Weiss did as asked, sitting on her bed next to her flight leader. "What happened next?"

"I went back to my parents. I told them everything. And then I told Interpol. It helped, for a time. But Mom and Dad agreed that I wasn't safe in Menagerie; the White Fang could get to me too easily, or worse, my family. Dad had some contacts in the US Marine Corps, and they agreed to hide me." For the first time that night, Blake smiled. "After all, who would think to look for me in Uncle Sam's Misguided Children?" She used one of many nicknames for the Marines. "In retrospect, I probably should've used an assumed name. I was worried someone would find me out, even with the Navy and Marines scrubbing my name from the base directories."

"It wasn't very hard to figure it out," Weiss said, though that was a bit unfair to Jaune. "So you're not a real Marine."

Blake bristled visibly at that. "Fuck off, Weiss. They put me through Marine basic at Parris Island. Just because I was hiding in plain sight didn't mean I got special treatment. There was a Faunus DI there that hated my guts—probably recognized me. Officers' school and flight school at Lejeune and Pensacola wasn't much fun either. I already had flight training because of my mother. Turns out I'm pretty good at this fighter pilot thing. I graduated first in my class. That's what got me the appointment to Pax River, and the _Gambol Shroud._ Since you seem to know so much about me, Weiss, the only part of my service record that's a lie is me going to Kansas State University. Some Marine brass must've thought it was funny to make my alma mater the Wildcats." She pointed to the golden wings on her tunic. "I am very much a Marine, and I am very, _very_ proud to say that. It's about the only thing I'm proud of anymore."

It was suddenly silent, as if Blake and Weiss had run out of steam at the same time. Ruby drew her knees up to her chest. "Well…now what?"

It was Weiss that spoke first, in a subdued voice. "Can we trust you again, Blake? You can't deny that you lied to us."

Blake was quiet for another long moment. "No, I can't. But if I had told you on the first day that I was a Faunus, Weiss...would you have looked at me and seen Blake Belladonna, Marine fighter pilot? Or just a Faunus?"

Weiss did not reply either at first. She remembered her first reaction to seeing Velvet Scarlatina's ears, and the revulsion at seeing Blake's. "I don't know," she finally said. "Do you see me as Weiss, fellow member of Ruby Flight…or just a Schnee?"

Ruby jumped to her feet, strode over to Blake, and bonked her on the head, between her ears. Blake was more shocked than hurt, but before she could respond, Ruby did the same thing to Weiss, nearly causing the other girl's hair bun to come undone. "What the hell?" Blake and Weiss said simutaneously.

"You two need to forget the past!" Ruby declared.

"Why the hell did you hit us?" Blake exclaimed.

"Who cares?" Ruby replied. "It's in the past!"

Weiss rolled her eyes as she repaired her hair. "You stole that from _The Lion King._"

"So? It's still true." Ruby regarded both of them. "Listen. We can't undo the damage that has happened in the past, guys. That's all behind us. Right here, right now, we're Ruby Flight, along with my sister, and that's it. I trust you both. I trusted you two when we were fighting the GRIMM, and guess what—you trusted each other. Even if you didn't know who Blake really was, Weiss, she knew who _you_ were." Ruby pointed at Weiss. "You don't know if everything you've been told about the Faunus is true, Weiss." Then she pointed at Blake. "And you don't know if everything you've been told about the Schnees is true, Blake. Truth?"

"Truth," Blake said at length.

"Truth," Weiss agreed.

"There." Ruby felt satisfied. "Now, Weiss, I want you to touch Blake's ears. Her cat ears."

"You want me to do _what?"_

"Do it. That is an order from your flight leader." Ruby crossed her arms, and stood feet apart, like a conqueror.

"We outrank you! Both of us!" Weiss exclaimed. "And that's weird—"

"It's okay." Blake's quiet statement took them both by surprise. Ruby had been half-joking, but Blake was not. She bent over. "Go ahead, Weiss."

Weiss sat, mouth agape, for a moment. Then, as if in a trance, she slowly stood, walked the three steps to Blake, and reached out, hands shaking. She stopped until the shaking ended, then gently grasped one of the furred ears atop Blake's head. She was not sure what to expect, but the ear was warm, and the fur soft and downy. She ran her fingers over the black fur, then the interior white. She slightly tugged on the ear, almost expecting it to come off, that the whole thing was a prank. It didn't.

Ruby turned red. She regretted asking Weiss to touch Blake's ears: she meant it as a way to force Weiss to accept Blake for who she was, but now it seemed too intimate. "Er…Weiss? Blake?"

Blake could not help but smile. "My ears aren't erogenous zones, Ruby. Rubbing them doesn't turn me on."

It was a good thing, too, because the door suddenly opened to admit Yang Xiao Long, one each. "Well, I sure walked into something!" Blake jerked back from Weiss as if electrocuted, and Weiss leapt backwards so fast that she nearly bowled over Ruby. Yang pushed the door shut, and regarded the tableaux in front of her. She managed to keep a straight face, and not let on that she had been listening at the door for the past ten minutes.

"Yang!" Ruby shouted. She pointed at Blake, who was trying to hide her ears the same way she might have tried to hide her breasts, as if Yang had come upon her topless. "Yang!" Ruby repeated. "Blake's a Faunus!"

Yang played it insufferably cool. "Oh, is that all? I knew that. Known it since this morning, actually."

"You _what?"_ Weiss was getting a lot of use of that word.

Blake gave up trying to cover her ears, mainly because they were flattened back over her head in embarrassment. "W…when? How?"

Yang opened the refrigerator, withdrew a can of soda, and cracked it open. She had just come from the gym. "This morning, like I told you." She took a long drink, glorying in the thunderstruck look on the other three girls' faces. "You were in the shower, Blake. I came in to brush my teeth. You started banging around and saying you couldn't see because shampoo got into your eyes, so I handed you a towel, remember? Opened the shower door and saw you in all your naked glory." Yang grinned. "Saw those two little cat ears right up there, too. Kinda cute."

"And…and you didn't say anything?"

"Why? Does it matter?" Yang drank more of the soda. Actually, she had been shocked to the point of nearly falling over, but the rest of Ruby Flight didn't need to know that. "I don't give a damn. Unless you start hacking up hairballs or licking yourself in front of Ruby or something."

They all stared popeyed at her for a moment, then Blake burst into laughter. Ruby followed immediately thereafter, and though she struggled, Weiss gave in too. Yang drank the rest of the soda and watched with a grin as the three girls collapsed onto their beds, shrieking in mirth.

* * *

Later that night, after lights out, Yang lay awake in bed. Ruby and Weiss were sound asleep, the former laying on her back with one leg hanging over the side, the other with the covers pulled neatly over her.

Yang rolled over and sneaked a peek on her bunkmate. Blake was still awake, though her face was hidden by _Ninjas of Love._ Now that she no longer needed to hide the fact that she was a Faunus, she could read without the light on, using her natural night vision.

Yang settled back onto her pillow. "Hey, Blake," she whispered.

"Yes, Yang?"

"You think you and Weiss are cool now?"

"I think so. I hope so." She heard Blake sigh. "Ruby's right. We need to not assume so much about the other. I'm willing to try if she is."

"Glad to hear that. And…y'know…if you ever need to talk with someone, I'll listen. I may not give good advice, but I'll listen."

"I appreciate that, Yang. Thank you. The feeling is mutual."

It was quiet for a bit. "Hey, Blake?"

"Yes, Yang?"

"I have a personal question for you. You don't have to answer. It's…kind of embarrassing."

Blake paused. "Well…go ahead, I suppose."

"Do Faunus sniff each other's butts when they say hi to each other? I mean, I've never seen you and Velvet together, so—" Yang was cut off as she felt a foot hit her rear end through the mattress. She fought down a snicker.

So did Blake, less successfully; she giggled and snorted. Weiss turned over in her bed, but didn't wake up. Ruby wouldn't have been awakened by another nuclear war. "You're an asshole, Yang Xiao Long. Go to bed, or I'll show you my claws."

"Promises, promises."


	18. A Storm is Coming

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Building towards the big finish for this story. Not sure if I will keep it going as "On RWBY Wings" or do a "On RWBY Wings Book 2," and break up the overarching story along the same lines as the RWBY anime seasons. Either way, the story will keep going until you or I get bored. And that's not likely to happen soon! I've already got ideas for this story after watching Season 6 of RWBY..._

_Kind of a quiet chapter this time, as it's very much build for the big, BIG dogfight coming up soon._

_Good stuff for airplane otaku like myself in this chapter. The Lavi never actually went into service with Israel; it was cancelled as too expensive, but this is another story. The Ching Kuo is a real aircraft. And yes, the Italians were still using F-104s in 2001._

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

The canopy of the F-16 came up as Ruby Rose took off her oxygen mask. "Whew," she said. "What a morning."

Her crew chief climbed up the ladder to help her unstrap, but she held up a hand. Ruby needed a minute. Her body screamed for sleep like a man in the desert wanted water. Finally, with some effort and some help from the crew chief, she got unstrapped and down the ladder. Ruby took off her red helmet and stuffed it in the bag at her waist, then plodded down the flightline. Across the way, she saw Weiss Schnee getting down from _Myrtenaster,_ looking just as worn out as Ruby was. And they still had to debrief.

_Well, at least Weiss and Blake are getting along now,_ Ruby thought to herself. The Schnee heiress and the Faunus weren't quite friends, but they were certainly not enemies, and there was a newfound respect for each other. At least, neither looked at the other with suspicion or fear. Blake had even taken to moving around the room without the bow in her hair. Ruby caught herself the night before staring at the Faunus girl's ears, and how they moved. It was something new in her life.

Certainly Vytal Flag's novelty had worn off—classroom learning every other day, 1V1 hops, the occasional 2v2 with Weiss, and one grueling long-distance flight from Beacon to northern Canada and back. All of it was necessary for Hunter/Huntress training, Ruby knew, but that didn't mean it wasn't boring at times. During the long-distance mission she'd actually fallen asleep, and didn't even realize it until Yang had warned her she was dropping out of formation. The combat flights were interesting and fun, and so far Ruby had yet to become a "mort"—though certainly everyone she'd fought against had tried. Coco Adel had drawn her into a particularly ghastly nine-G turning fight that she had only won through pure luck. Still, with the exception of the dogfights, it was becoming routine.  
Until this morning.

The air was split with the sound of jet engines overhead. Even though everyone at Beacon heard that sound so often, it was rare that people could not resist at least a glance upward. Ruby was no different, and was rewarded with a four-ship flight of aircraft to warm the most jaded airplane otaku's heart. "Whoa," she breathed. The silhouette of the F-18 Hornet was a familiar one, but the Eurocanard fighter was not. _Whoa,_ she repeated to herself, _is that a Gripen? No, by golly, that's a Lavi! And what the heck is that in the lead; it's not a F-18 or F-16…holy cats, it's a Ching Kuo! And…oooh holy mother of pizza, that's a F-104! _The latter, as it broke over the flightline to follow the F-18, the Lavi, and the FCK-1 Ching Kuo on the downwind leg, gave out a spooky, distinctive moan, like a lost soul. Ruby shot both hands in the air and let out a cheer. The F-104 was a rare bird these days, a design from before the Third War, the last of the venerable Century Series left in service, and then only in Italy. She'd only seen them in museums, and now there was one at Beacon!

Ruby was so enthusiastic that she wasn't watching where she was going, and collided with someone who was also distracted. Both of them yelped and fell to the tarmac. Ruby's helmet rolled out of its bag, and she hurriedly got to her feet to retrieve it. She noticed the other person was not getting up. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" Ruby blurted.

The other pilot looked up at her. She smiled. "Salutations!"

Ruby noticed blood trickling from a scrape on the other girl's arm. She helped her up, frantically reached into her survival suit for a bandage, only for a pale hand to appear, holding a hankerchief. Weiss smiled at her, then put the hankerchief on the wound. The girl stared at it with clinical interest. It wasn't a deep cut. "Are you okay?" Weiss repeated.

"I'm quite all right. Thanks for asking." Weiss handed her the hankerchief. She stared at that for a moment as well, then said "Oh!" and placed it against the wound. "My name is Penny," she said. "Penny Polendina. It's a pleasure to meet you—both of you."

"I'm Ruby Rose—this is Weiss Schnee. Sorry I didn't see you," Ruby said. She noted Penny's features—red hair, creamy skin, freckles, a pink bow in her hair. Were it not for the green flight suit with USAF wings on it, and lieutenant's bars, Ruby would have guessed someone's teenage daughter was running around a flightline unsupervised. A thought occurred to Ruby and she stared at the top of Penny's head.

"Is something wrong?" Penny asked.

"Er, it's nothing," Ruby said quickly. Beneath the bow was more red hair, not cat ears. "So, uh, where did you come from?"

"Dyess," Penny answered. She turned and pointed towards the transient ramp. "That's mine."

Ruby followed her finger and would have let out a very loud squee, had it not been for Weiss' hand clamping down on hers in warning. Penny's plane showed the long, sleek fuselage and swing wings of the B-1B Lancer. Weiss gave a short nod. "So you are a bomber pilot," she said, successfully keeping the contempt out of her voice. Like most fighter pilots, Weiss did not have a high opinion of bomber pilots. Their job was to rearrange landscapes and flatten the enemy, but to fighter pilots, bombers tended to be large, slow targets that were a pain in the ass to escort. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

"Oh, I'm it." Penny's smile grew wider, if that was possible. "My aircraft has been specially modified, you see."

Ruby finally fought off Weiss' hand. "Really? Wow! Can I see?"

Penny's smile faltered. "I don't believe so. Sorry. I will have to check with my superiors."

Weiss took Ruby's arm. "Ruby, we need to go debrief. It was good to meet you, Lieutenant Polendina." She began pulling Ruby away. There was something off about Penny Polendina. "You can keep the hankerchief, Lieutenant."

"Oh! Thank you, Miss Schnee."

Ruby waved. "Hopefully see you again!"

"And you, Miss Rose!" Penny waved as Weiss dragged Ruby away even faster. Once they were gone, Penny lifted the hankerchief. The wound had stopped bleeding, and she hesitantly touched the blood on the cloth. "Have I made some friends?"

* * *

"She was very weird," Weiss said as they walked towards the debriefing shack. It was actually a small building, but the name had stuck since World War II.

"Don't be mean, Weiss." Ruby shrugged. "I mean, she _is_ a bomber pilot, and they are pretty strange…even if the B-1 is pretty cool. It can maneuever like a fighter!"

Weiss raised an eyebrow as she opened the door, and let that be her statement on that subject.

The shack was empty save Ozpin, who to their surprise was alone behind a large metal desk. Both Ruby and Weiss came to attention. Ozpin nodded and pointed to two seats. "What did you see out there?" he asked, without preamble.

"Nothing, sir," Ruby replied. "We flew all the way to Ottawa, and there was no sign of the missing flight."

Ozpin gave them another nod. "Cardinal Flight found it. What was left of it." A map of the Great Lakes was spread out on the desk. "Lufthansa Cargo Flight 3113 was en route from Hamburg to Chicago. It disappeared after checking in with Niagara Falls. The 747 was found at a small airfield near Ypsilanti in the Michigan Dead Zone—a burnt out wreck."

"Then it was shot down?" Weiss asked.

"It does not appear to have been. It looks like it was forced down, then burned."

"The crew?"

Ozpin shook his head. "Cardin Winchester made a low pass over the wreckage. He spotted bodies. The crew looks to have been lined up and shot."

Ruby felt sick, but Weiss rubbed her chin in thought. "Isn't that odd, sir? Usually air pirates hold the crews and aircraft for ransom."

"Usually, yes. This is the second time this week." Ozpin pointed at the map again. "Hapag-Lloyd Flight 322, an Airbus A330, was also forced down, this time just south of the ruins of Cleveland. The same thing—the aircraft burned, the crew killed." Ozpin leaned back in his chair. "I'm going to tell you both something that I'd prefer not be repeated in the officers' club. You can tell the other members of your flight, but I'd prefer no one else, for now…but I thought you especially should know, Lieutenant Schnee."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes. Both Lufthansa 3113 and Hapag-Lloyd 322 were carrying DUST modules—four in each aircraft."

Weiss swallowed involuntarily. "Were the DUST modules…recovered?"

"No. The other rather strange thing is that Hapag-Lloyd 322 was carrying a quarter of a million Euros." Ozpin paused for effect. "The recovery squad found the money burned, but as far as they can tell, none of it was taken."

"That doesn't make sense!" Ruby exclaimed. "Isn't the Ohio Dead Zone where that Torchwick Gang hangs out? The ones I ran into last week?"

"It is," Ozpin confirmed. "While Roman Torchwick has been known to kill prisoners who aren't ransomed, he's never killed them without at least asking for money first. In fact, many of his captives say that Torchwick treats them decently, even well. From what we know about him, Torchwick sees himself as the old-style gentleman thief. For him to just arbitrarily murder is very odd, as you say, Lieutenant Schnee. For him to murder _and_ fail to take a small fortune is so out of character, that the Federal Bureau of Investigation is wondering if Torchwick has been killed and replaced with someone more psychotic."

Weiss had a thought, and wished she hadn't. Not after the confrontation with Blake. "Sir…could it be the White Fang?" Ruby turned to look at her in shock, but Weiss was not looking at her. She was looking at Ozpin. _Surely he has to know who Blake really is—really was,_ Weiss corrected herself.

Ozpin, however, was a superb poker player. His expression did not change. "That is a possibility. The White Fang usually confine themselves to Europe and North Africa, but there are groups here in the United States. They tend to follow old Ghira's philosphy rather than Sienna Khan's, but there's always the chance they've been radicalized." Weiss noted that Ozpin had not mentioned Ghira Belladonna's full name. _He knows about Blake, then, but doesn't know that we know about her. Or doesn't care if we do._

"I only bring it up because the White Fang have struck Schnee company trains, trying to steal DUST."

"I understand, Lieutenant." Ozpin rolled up the map. "We will be maintaining our combat air patrols, and probably start extending them further out. Possibly even escort duty." Ruby and Weiss suppressed a groan over that; escort duty was no fun for a fighter pilot. It required a lot of throttling back so the aircraft being escorted—usually a bomber or a transport—was not left behind. "Get some sleep. Both of you have been up most of the night. You're excused from class today. Dismissed, and thank you."

All three stood. As the two pilots turned to go, Ruby asked Ozpin, "Sir, what's with the B-1 we saw parked on the transient ramp?" She did not mention Penny Polendina.

"Ah, that. I did mention escort duty? That will be what you will train with."

Ruby smelled a rat. The B-1 hardly needed escorts; it was faster than her F-16. If they were truly training for something, it would have been a B-52. Still, it would do no good to ask; Ozpin would just say it was above her security clearance, which it was. "Thank you, sir."

"And don't go poking around in it, Lieutenant Rose."

Ruby laughed. Ozpin knew what an airplane nut she was. "No, sir. Never entertained the thought, sir. Am quite frankly shocked you would think I would do that, sir."

Ozpin laughed as well. "I said dismissed, Lieutenant."

* * *

As they walked to the equipment room to change out of their flight gear, Ruby noticed Weiss was pensive, her face set in an icy expression. "Weiss?"

Weiss shook herself out of it. "Sorry, Ruby."

"It's okay. Why would air pirates want DUST equipment?"

Weiss shrugged. "I don't know. They could install it in their aircraft, but the average air pirate doesn't have the training to use it. Nor do they need to. Air pirates avoid taking pilots like us on; they want to go for the easy score, like airliners or unescorted transports." She thought for a moment. "In fact, the last time I heard of an air pirate gang trying to take on an air force head on was when the Winged Scimitars tried to hit Crete with an airstrike, so they could keep the Greeks from interfering with them. Both sides took heavy casualties, but the Greeks wiped them out to a man. Even the ones that bailed out—they were gunned in their parachutes."

"What about the White Fang?" Ruby did not want to ask it, but had to.

"The White Fang do have an air component—that was one of the things they used in their last big train job. The one Bl—" Weiss noted other pilots close enough to possibly hear as they neared the equipment room. "—well, you know," Weiss finished. "They could use DUST…for…" Weiss turned even more pale than usual. "Oh my God."

Ruby knew what Weiss was thinking. The Schnee family, their estate, everything they owned were undoubtedly defended by Luftwaffe units equipped with DUST. But if the White Fang had their own DUST-equipped fighters, then the odds would be very even. "Weiss," Ruby said, "I don't want to scare you even more, but there's something you should know."

"What?" They stopped outside the door to the equipment room.

"When I fought Torchwick and his gang, there was someone else involved. Roman flies a Sea Harrier, and his guys flew F-5s. But just about the time I was going to run him down, just before Goodwitch showed up in her F-22, this other plane shot at me with four AMRAAMs. Air pirates don't use those; they're too expensive and hard to get. But this thing did. And here's the scary part—I never even picked them up on radar." Ruby chewed her bottom lip. "Weiss, what if there's someone flying around with a stolen F-22…and it's equipped with DUST?"

Weiss found herself swallowing uncontrollably again. The USAF planned to equip their Raptor fleet with DUST, as soon as funding allowed it, but none to Weiss' knowledge as yet had the system. "We need to talk to Blake," she whispered.

"Why? Blake wouldn't know anything about Torchwick."

"No…but she would know why the White Fang hit that train."


	19. When the World Ends

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Building up to the climax of this story arc. I still haven't decided if I will keep adding chapters to this or start a new "RWBY Wings Chapter 2." Any thoughts, readers?_

_I apologize for the long infodump from Oobleck, but I wanted to give some background to this version of Remnant, and what happened to cause all the world's devastation and creation of the GRIMM. It does have bearing on the overall story, as Salem *does* exist in this world. The historical record up to when the Soviets launch their missiles in Cuba is accurate._

_"Arashikaze" is an ongoing character of mine who shows up in most of my stories. Don't worry-an anonymous CIA source will be as far as she shows up in "RWBY Wings." I don't intend to introduce any OCs of consequence, except as NPCs. (For those of you who have read my Evangelion stories, this "Arashikaze" is Rissa Arashikaze, not Riana.)_

_Next chapter will be the "season finale" big battle! Can't wait to post it. _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

"Don't you have to get to class?" Blake asked. She was pulling on her fatigue pants. "We've got a new instructor today—Professor Oobleck."

"We're excused. It was a long flight last night." Ruby said. She and Weiss had agreed that Ruby was probably the best person to breach the subject of the train attack with Blake; if it was Weiss, Blake might assume that the heiress was restarting their near-fight of five nights before, and it would shatter the tentative peace between the two women. "Blake, can I ask you a kind of embarrassing question?"

"Lot of that going around." Yang was getting dressed as well.

"Sure, I guess," Blake replied guardedly.

"Well…" Ruby hesitated, then plunged on. "Blake, it's about the White Fang." Ruby resisted taking a step backwards as those yellow eyes swung coldly in her direction. She waved her hands defensively. "No, let me explain!"

The eyes softened a little. "I'm not stopping you, Ruby."

"Er, sure. See, we ended up staying out all night because there was another air pirate attack—second time this week. Two cargo planes, forced down, then the crews killed. Both flights were carrying DUST equipment. One of them was carrying money, but…the money was left behind. The attacks were done over the Ohio Dead Zone, so Captain Ozpin thinks it was the Torchwick Gang, but…"

Blake nodded, not looking at Ruby. "But you think it was the White Fang." She stood and looked instead at Weiss.

Weiss returned the stare. "It was brought up, yes. Blake," she said, her voice even, "I swear, I'm not accusing you of being involved. It's just that…when that train in Germany was hit by the White Fang—"

"The attack I was involved in." Blake made it a statement, not a question.

"Yes. That one. Were the White Fang after DUST?" Weiss was careful to say "White Fang" instead of "you."

Blake paused. "That was part of it," she answered. "And the White Fang made off with one module, but the objective was to destroy the train, and show the Schnees that they could be gotten to even in Germany. The White Fang wanted to massacre the passengers aboard as well. I made sure they didn't, and left after that. I was planning to leave anyway, but that was the last straw. _One_ of the last straws." To the other girls' surprise, Blake's eyes were shining with tears. "I'm…I'm sorry. I know I should've made sure that Ad…ah, the White Fang didn't even get that one module. I wasn't really in my right mind at the time, I guess."

Ruby reached forward and touched her shoulder. "It's okay, Blake."

Blake put her hand on Ruby's. "Thanks, Ruby. It's not okay, but…thanks." She quickly wiped her eyes. Weiss noticed her ears were drooped to either side; Blake was very nervous about something. _She's going to be easy to play poker against,_ Weiss thought to herself, _but she's not lying._ "Why were the White Fang after DUST?" she asked gently.

"I don't know. The White Fang have qualified pilots and some aircraft, but they can't use them often." She pointed to Weiss' uniform. "Mainly because of the various EU air forces. But their aircraft are pretty poor stuff, Weiss. I never flew with them. We're talking about old MiGs they found in the Russian Dead Zone or castoffs they stole from the EU. DUST wouldn't even be compatible."

"It would be pretty valuable on the open market, though," Yang put in.

"Very true," Blake agreed. "And the White Fang could always use the cash." She shook her head. "I'm sorry that I can't help you more. Before you ask, I don't have any contacts left in the White Fang. No one."

"Of course not," Weiss said. Blake's head came up in surprise. "And even if you did, we wouldn't let you contact them. The risk is too great." She yawned despite herself. "Sorry!"

"It's sack time for us," Ruby said. "You guys better get to class. Thanks, Blake."

"Sure. Anytime."

Yang slapped her back with enough force to knock the air out of Blake's lungs and left the room. Ruby went into the bathroom. Blake went to follow Yang, but she paused on the threshold. "Weiss…thank you for what you said. That you wouldn't let me contact the White Fang."

Weiss was stepping out of her flight suit. She shrugged. "Well, I meant it." She winked at Blake. "Besides, if they came to kill you, they'd probably kill me as a bonus. It's self-preservation."

Blake nodded at her again, smiled, and left.

* * *

_Building 11713 (Auditorium C)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

"Before I get started today," Professor Bartholomew Oobleck said, "allow me to take a moment and introduce the latest additions to Vytal Flight. As Colonel Goodwitch may have mentioned, we will bring increasing numbers of new flights here to Beacon, both to further train as you are, and act as adversaries for air-to-air training." He took a sip of coffee. "So, without further adieu, allow me to introduce to you Sun Flight: Captain Sun Wukong of the Chinese Unified Air Force; Lieutenant Scarlet David of the Israeli Defense Force _Heyl Ha'avir_; Lieutenant Sage Ayana of the Italian _Aeronautica Militaire_; and Ensign Neptune Vasilias of the United States Navy. Gentlemen, if you would stand, and ladies and gentlemen, if you would greet them…"

Four men in the front row stood. Instantly, everyone in the room shouted "SIT DOWN, ASSHOLE!" It was fighter pilot tradition. Sun Flight clearly expected it, since all four laughed and waved. As Sun Wukong sat down, Blake noticed his tail—he was a Faunus. Under her bow, her ears twitched involuntarily. She was tempted for a brief moment to simply reach up and undo it, but the fear of being found out stopped her. Ruby Flight were her friends, but she could trust no one else at Beacon.

Oobleck dived right into his lecture, and Blake's pen flew across the page, pausing only when Oobleck did—in his case, to take another drink of coffee. Nearly alone among the people at Beacon, Oobleck dressed in civilian clothes, though he was former USAF, medically retired. Blake wondered what his condition was, because not only did he talk fast, he moved fast as well, speed walking around the room. Oobleck gave the impression that he had to go to the bathroom, and the more Blake watched him, the more _she_ needed to go.

One thing Oobleck wasn't was boring, and though it seemed weird that part of Vytal Flag's syllabus was mandatory historical lectures, at least she was in no danger of falling asleep. He made history come alive, even if she already knew much of it.

"The Cuban Missile Crisis _must_ be put into its historical context," Oobleck was saying. "The Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union had been already heating up. The Second Berlin Crisis, in which American and Soviet tanks were pointing their main guns at each other, had only occurred months before. The Soviets felt hemmed in by American bases scattered all around their frontier, and the U-2 spyplane incident had embarrassed Premier Khrushchev worse than it had Eisenhower. Khrushchev's decision to secretly base nuclear missiles in Cuba was as much a reaction to the twin embarrassments of the U-2 Incident and the Second Berlin Crisis, as it was an acknowledgement that the Soviets were actually behind in the arms race."

Velvet held up a hand. "Professor Oobleck, what about the so-called missile gap?"

Oobleck pointed at her as he slugged back another shot of coffee. "An excellent question, Flight Officer! The words 'so-called' are appropriate, since there was no missile gap. Khrushchev and the Soviet Union had bluffed the United States into thinking the Soviets were further ahead than they were, but in reality, the Soviets were lagging behind the United States. Basing missiles in Cuba was a way to close that gap—besides responding to the American basing of missiles in Turkey and the United Kingdom, it was also to ensure that the Soviets retained a credible first strike capability in the face of increasingly advanced American intercontinental ballistic missiles and submarine-launched ballistic missiles."

Another drink and Oobleck continued. "Nonetheless, after American reconnaissance aircraft spotted the nuclear missiles in Cuba in mid-October 1962, President Kennedy and Premier Khrushchev were prepared to find a way out of the crisis. Kennedy imposed a blockade around Cuba, but referred to it as a 'quarantine,' as blockades are technically acts of war. Khrushchev realized that by basing missiles that would give Washington DC, and by extension the President of the United States, less than five minutes warning time, he had committed a massively destabilizing move. Khrushchev was prepared to exchange the missiles in Cuba for a noninvasion pledge by the United States, which, as you know, had been attempting to remove Fidel Castro for some time."

Another hand went up: Russel Thrush's. "So what happened? Who fired first?"

Oobleck set down his coffee flask. He stopped moving for a moment, and Blake was surprised to see the professor visibly controlling his emotions. Then she remembered that Oobleck almost certainly lived through this armageddon. "The Soviets on Cuba did, but we're not sure why. We know that Khrushchev had revised his earlier offer, under pressure from hardliners in the Politburo, to trade his missiles in Cuba for the Americans' in Turkey. Before Kennedy could respond to this offer, a U-2 was shot down over Cuba, and the Soviet commander of nuclear forces near Havana had received leaked plans of an American invasion. He took the plans to be an actual threat rather than simply plans, and coupled with the U-2 shootdown, feared the Americans had already launched, or soon would. And so he, against orders from Moscow, ordered his battery to fire his missiles…and the rest was history."

"So were 60 million people," Cardin Winchester added.

Oobleck nodded. "An insubordinate answer, Captain Winchester, but a not inaccurate one."

Blake wrote down the lesson, and knew the rest, although her parents were not alive at the time. Once American radar detected the launch of Soviet missiles from Cuba, the retaliation was immediate and devastating—but so was the Soviet launch. Casualties were actually much lower than projections, as neither side quite launched everything they had and many missiles never reached their targets for various reasons. What had killed more than nuclear fireballs were electromagnetic pulses, loss of infrastructure, and simple panic.

Blake raised her hand. "Professor, what year did you say the GRIMM first appeared?"

"Ah. In 1967, Lieutenant Belladonna. They were first identified along the West Coast of the United States—or what was left of it—but we know now that rumors of 'monster attacks' in central Europe and in northern China several years before were actually GRIMM."

Yang's hand went up. "And we still don't know who controls them?"

Oobleck shook his head. "No, Captain Long. The prevailing belief is that the GRIMM are being run either by fanatics of one side or another, or some top secret doomsday program activated them and they are somehow self-replicating. Since a GRIMM has never been captured intact, our attempts to trace back their control signals have been spotty at best. And when we do send out our long-range patrols—the Hunters and Huntresses—to attempt to find the GRIMM main base, or factory, or whatever…those patrols either find nothing, or usually simply don't return."

"No evidence that they are aliens?" asked Jaune.

This brought laughter, but Oobleck silenced the laughter with a look. "That is one possibility, Lieutenant Arc. A perhaps not likely one, but a rational one nonetheless."

* * *

As Blake left the auditorium, a voice called her name. She turned around as Pyrrha ran to catch up with her. "Glad I caught you before you went back to the dorm," the other pilot said. She handed Blake a notecard. "Flight assignment for the combat air patrol tonight. You'll be flying with one of the new guys—Sun Wukong. I have to catch up with him."

"Oh. Thanks, Pyrrha." Blake stared at the notecard as Pyrrha rushed off—Sun had been one of the first to leave the auditorium. _Why him? Is it because he's a Faunus too? _Blake knew Ozpin was aware of her secret; Goodwitch, who handled the flight assignments, she wasn't sure about. _It could be just a coincidence. I've already flown two CAPs over the past week. Makes sense Goodwitch would want me to break in one of the new guys. Still…if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there isn't a lot of coincidences in life._

She tapped the card against her hands and headed back for the dorm. She still needed to finish a paper for Port's class that afternoon.

* * *

Ozpin stared at the e-mail messages on his screen. There were two. The first read:

_To: Ozpin CO JRB Beacon_

_From: Arashikaze _

_Subject: DUST Robberies_

_Intelligence Source GODDESS claims DUST attack to take place at Milwaukee IAP 2300 local. Two __Lufthansa 747s to arrive with largest DUST shipment of year for USAF. Torchwick Gang and White __Fang involvement probable. Advise large CAP. Source CAMO claims Torchwick will not move against defended target._

The second:

_To: Ozpin_

_From: Qrow_

_Subject: Ongoing_

_Queen has pawns._

Goodwitch read over his shoulder. "That's not good. Either one." She pointed at the first. "Who's Arashikaze?"

"CIA. An old friend of mine. She's not supposed to be passing information to me, so if she sent this, it's legitimate."

"Does she know…" Goodwitch looked around Ozpin's office. It was highly doubtful the room was bugged, but it was always possible.

"She knows," Ozpin answered the unfinished question.

Goodwitch blew out her breath and sat down. "If we put everything in the air tonight, Torchwick will back off. He's one of the smarter air pirates out there. No matter what he's being paid, he's not going to take what's left of his gang against five flights of fighters. Even if we've transferred Sake Flight back to Grissom, and even if he's been reinforced by whatever the White Fang can scrounge up."

Ozpin leaned back in his chair, winced at the pain in his bad leg, and steepled his fingers. After awhile, he said, "No."

Both Goodwitch's eyebrows went up. "No?"

"No." Ozpin faced her. "Glynda, do you remember the old story about the young bull and the old bull?" She shook her head. "So a young bull and an old bull come upon a field of cows. The young bull says, 'Dad, let's run down there and fuck one of those cows!' The old bull says, 'No, son. Let's _walk_ down there and fuck them _all._"

Goodwitch chuckled. Despite being a sailor by trade, Ozpin rarely used profanity these days. "I see your point. So if we maintain our regular CAP, Torchwick assumes we're on standard operating procedure. He goes after the DUST. More than likely his plan involves landing a force of White Fang ground personnel to grab the DUST while he orbits overhead. They leave before we can react." Goodwitch tapped a finger against her chin in thought. "So we either hit them while the White Fang are on the ground, or…"

"Or, we trail them back to wherever Torchwick's hideout is, and send in a massive force to destroy the entire place. And ground forces to capture Torchwick and the 'queen's pawns.' I do love Qrow's touch of the dramatic." Ozpin reached forward and deleted both e-mails. "Who is on CAP tonight?"

Goodwitch reached into a pocket and consulted a notepad. "Belladonna and Wukong." She looked up at Ozpin. "They're both Faunus. Can we trust them against the White Fang? Especially Belladonna?"

"Wukong has never had contact with the White Fang, and if our dossier on him is any indication, he has no love for them. The White Fang have a kill order on Blake Belladonna, direct from Sienna Khan. We don't have to worry about Belladonna's loyalty." Ozpin thought for a moment. "Let's have Rose and Schnee on alert five to backup Belladonna and Wukong in case Torchwick decides to go after our CAP. If for some reason something goes south, we scramble everything."

"That sounds reasonable." Goodwitch remembered something. "You should know that Penny Polendina has requested a night air test tonight."

Ozpin nodded. "No reason to say no."

"Ironwood's not going to like it if his pet project gets involved."

"Then he shouldn't have sent her here." He got to his feet, slowly. "Glynda, make sure Polendina's B-1 is fully armed. Just in case."


	20. Mighty Wings

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here we go! This is easily the biggest dogfight sequence I've ever written. I thought about splitting it into two chapters and leaving you folks with a cliffhanger, but nah. I'll throw the whole thing out there, even if it is a LONG chapter. Life is short._

_Throw me a review or two. I want to know how I'm doing and what you folks thought of this!_

_A few technical notes: The FCK-1 Ching Kuo is a real aircraft. Its actual designation is F-CK-1, but that looks like a censored cuss word, so I just wrote it as FCK-1. Angels is altitude, so angels 4000 would be 4000 feet above ground level (AGL). Haisla actually is a real AWACS callsign (or was when my dad worked with them). The part about the F-14's wings sliding forward when it's out of flight energy is also true-instructors at Top Gun could watch that on student F-14s. Sun Wukong's fight with the MiGs is based on Ran Ronen's epic fight with about 20 (!) Egyptian MiG-21s during the Yom Kippur War, while Jaune's quick fight is based on a real incident between a F-105 Thunderchief and a MiG-17 in Vietnam. _

_Enjoy and hold onto your seat!_

* * *

_Near Sheboygan_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

Blake tried to settle into her ejection seat better, and thanked God—or the Schnees, whichever—that she hadn't been born with a tail. How Sun was handling it, she had no idea. She glanced over at the FCK-1A Ching Kuo, and laughed behind her oxygen mask when she remembered Ruby's description of the Chinese fighter: _if a F-16 and a F-18 loved each other very much…_

She allowed herself a quick rest of her eyes, then an equally quick scan of her instrument panel. _Gambol Shroud_ was humming along perfectly. Her armament panel showed her weapons load tonight: two AMRAAMs, two Phoenix, two Sidewinders. Blake had considered leaving the Phoenixes behind—they were heavy—but there was always the possibility that she would need their long reach and hitting power. She'd checked Sun's loadout before flight as well: four Sidewinders, two AMRAAM. After checking the sky around her, Blake once more squirmed around in her seat. Aside from her and Sun, the night sky over northeastern Wisconsin was empty.

She allowed her thoughts to roam a little. First of all, Sun Wukong. He was certainly friendly enough: his first action when they had met on the flightline was a good, strong handshake. Blake's father had always told her that the best way to judge a person was by their handshake. He was certainly not ashamed of his Faunus heritage: his monkey tail curled restlessly behind him. Sun was tall and handsome, with blond-colored hair and a propensity towards leaving his flight suit unzipped to his navel, with nothing on beneath it. That was undoubtedly for her benefit: the words 'chiseled abs' certainly applied to the Chinese pilot. Blake caught herself thinking what it would be like to run her fingers over those abs.

_Down, kitty,_ she smiled to herself. _Yes, I know, it has been awhile since…_ Blake shook her head. She didn't need to be thinking about that right now. That would bring thoughts of _him,_ and she did not need those thoughts.

"Blake, Sun." Sun Wukong would never know how much Blake appreciated the interruption. "I've got something…two bogeys bearing 300, angels 4000 at 64 miles." As usual, Blake and Sun were flying "eyeball-shooter," with Sun keeping his radar on and Blake keeping hers off. They flew a close formation, if for no other reason that, with her radar off, Blake's F-14 was nearly undetectable. "Negative squawk." That meant nothing on the Identification Friend or Foe. She automatically looked to the right, but even her superb night vision would be unable to pick out an aircraft at that range.

"Roger; let's identify. You have the lead, Sun." She dropped her flaps for a second to slow down, let Sun's FCK-1 get in the lead position, and took up position behind and to the right. "Haisla, Ruby Four. We've got two bogeys at 64 miles, bearing 010, angels 4000." While everyone at Beacon used their first name in training and in flight communication, outside of that they used callsigns.

"Roger, Ruby Four." Haisla was an E-3 Sentry AWACS radar aircraft orbiting near Davenport, Iowa. There, it could watch the entire Midwest region with the powerful radar atop the converted airliner. "We've got that. Be advised that no air pirate warning has been issued. We'll try and contact them and get back to you."

"Any objections if we intercept and identify, Haisla?"

There was a pause. "Negative, Ruby Four."

Blake switched frequencies back to the flight channel. "Sun, let's check them out."

"Roger that, Blake. Why don't you take the lead? With that big camera under your nose, you can see them better than I can."

Blake clicked the mike twice to acknowledge. That was true. Slung under the nose of the F-14 was the Television Camera System, the TCS. It was a powerful camera linked to one of her cockpit displays that would allow her to see targets visually, much further than even a Faunus could see. On a good, clear day, she would be able to see the bogeys with the TCS from where they were now; during the night, they would have to get within ten miles. Luckily there were no clouds tonight, though only a thin crescent moon. She pushed up the throttle a little as Sun dropped back. "Sun, go nose cold. I'll go hot." Sun turned off his radar, and Blake switched _Gambol Shroud's_ on. This was the F-14's stock in trade: the powerful radar was designed to pick out targets at much longer ranges than she was at now, and over water: they were now over Lake Michigan. Over water, her radar was actually somewhat superior to the AWACS.

The radar got two sweeps before it was suddenly blanked out. Her radar screen showed snow over the front quadrant, but before it had been blanked out, it had shown more than two bogeys: it had picked up six. "Sun, I'm being jammed."

Sun turned his radar back on. "I am too."

"Haisla, Ruby Four! I'm picking up heavy jamming at 40 miles, still bearing 010, east of Milwaukee. Identified six bogeys, not two, before it started."

"Roger, Ruby Four." Haisla seemed unconcerned. "We see the jamming. We're still trying to figure out what's going on."

Blake gritted her teeth. "It's air pirates, Haisla! Why else would they be jamming?"

"We're not sure, Ruby Four. Stand by."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Blake shouted in frustration, though she kept her finger off the mike button. Her radar would burn through the jamming, but it would take a little while. She accelerated more and looked at the TCS display. It was slaved to the radar, and her fire control system fed the TCS the last good radar return it had picked up. Finally, she could see one of the tiny aircraft, the leader of the six skimming the water of Lake Michigan, caught in the little bit of moonlight. The silhouette was unmistakable: it was a Sea Harrier.

"Torchwick," Blake growled, and hit the radio button. "Haisla, Ruby Four, tally-ho. I have six bandits at my one o'clock low. Classify lead aircraft as a Sea Harrier. It's Roman Torchwick, Haisla."

"Ruby Four, are you sure?"

Blake wished she could reach through the radio and throttle the radar operator onboard the AWACS. "Nobody else flies a Sea Harrier around here, Haisla! Do you want me to go over and ask him?" There was no response. Blake swore again and rolled the F-14 so that she was nearly behind the formation of air pirates; Sun had swung out further, to clear her tail and loosen up the formation. The air pirates knew they were there, so there was no point in trying to hide any longer. As Blake watched through the TCS, four of the other aircraft—more F-5s, she noted—broke formation and turned into her. One was broadside to the camera for just a moment, and the weak moonlight caught it just right.

The outer wings were painted white, and on them was emblazoned a red stylized cat's head with three claw marks behind it. Blake's mouth went dry. "Oh God. It can't be," she whispered. "It can't be." She frantically scanned the sky as Sun shouted at her that the F-5s were turning in her direction. "He's not here," she said to herself, feeling her heart pound. "He's not here." She saw the F-5s, and was suddenly filled with rage. _Not again. They're not going to do this again. Not here. _

"Ruby Four, engaging bandits." Blake punched off her external tanks into the lake.

It fell to Sun to radio, "Haisla, Sun Lead, we're engaging! Raid count is six bandits!"

A new voice came over the radio from the controller they had spoken to before. "Understood, Sun Lead. Beacon Control, Haisla, recommend you scramble the alert five."

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

The air raid siren went off, startling Ruby out of a sound sleep. She had stood alert five duty once already, and it had been so boring it was as if sleep was encouraged. She stared at the loudspeakers for a second before Goodwitch's voice announced, "Active air scramble. This is not a drill, this is not a drill."

Adrenaline flooded Ruby's body; her hands moved before her brain was not quite awake. She clipped her oxygen mask to her helmet, then tightened her harness, then started the inertial navigation system. The crew chief pulled the ladder away as she closed the canopy, then gave the signal to pull chocks. Once her ground crew was clear, Ruby moved up the throttle and taxied out of the hardstand. Behind her Weiss fell into formation with _Myrtenaster._ "Ruby Flight on alert five," Ruby radioed.

"Ruby Flight, you are cleared for immediate parallel departure on Runway 03 Left and Right. Winds are steady, visibility unlimited, contact Haisla after takeoff. Good luck, Ruby," Beacon Control replied.

"Roger, here we go." Ruby pulled down her visor. "Weiss, combat departure." Weiss clicked the mike twice in acknowledgement. She steered onto Runway 03 Left as Weiss lined up on Runway 03 Right. Normally, Ruby would have braked to allow Weiss to get centered, but this was real world, not a drill, so she merely slammed the throttle forward into afterburner. The F-16 leapt into the air.

Weiss did the same, but instead of the expected kick as both Eurojet engines lit their afterburners, the Typhoon abruptly stopped. All the lights went out in her cockpit and the engines spooled down. She filled the air with German curses as _Myrtenaster_ lost complete electrical power.

"Ruby, Haisla," the AWACS called. "Bandits are 160 miles, bearing 310. Sun Lead and Ruby Four have engaged." Ruby turned in that direction, thinking _Blake and that new guy with the ripped abs. What was his name again? Sunny? No, that can't be it. _"Be advised that Ruby Two is an abort. Are you Charlie Mike?"

"Weiss?" Ruby wondered aloud. "Haisla, Ruby, what happened to Ruby Two?"

"Unknown, Ruby Lead. Just got the advisory from Beacon. Charlie Mike?" Haisla asked again, wondering if Ruby would Continue Mission.

_Damn,_ Ruby thought, _Weiss wouldn't just abort because Blake and Sun are Faunus, would she? No way. Wonder what happened? Oh well—doesn't matter._ "Ruby is Charlie Mike and supersonic. I'll be there in six minutes."

"Ruby, Pyrrha. Jaune and I are joining you on your left side." Ruby turned her head. They were just bright diamonds, but her eyesight picked out the shapes of Pyrrha's F-16 and Jaune's Mirage 2000 coming towards her.

"Pyrrha? What are you doing up here?"

"Jaune and I were doing a bit of night training. We've only got cannon, but we can help." Live rounds were always carried on non-exercise missions; sometimes GRIMM slipped through the gaps in the barrier.

Ruby would have to ask about that later as well. "More the merrier, Pyrrha! Haisla, be advised, Juniper Lead and Two are coming with me."

* * *

A hundred and fifty miles north of Ruby, over Lake Superior, Penny Polendina heard the radio calls. She was orbiting at fifty thousand feet, nearly invisible to even the AWACS, which was not even aware she was there. She had taken off from Beacon two hours before to test some of the avionics on her B-1B. Her thumb hovered over the mike button on her control stick a moment before she touched it. "Penny to Test Control. Request permission to join the fight."

"Test Control. Negative, Penny. You are instructed to maintain position and continue test."

Penny hesitated again. Then she seemingly addressed open air. "Lancer, disengage from test program. Manual control." The stick in her right hand tingled, letting her know that she was now flying the B-1. Then she touched the mike button again. "Test Control, Penny. Moving south."

"Negative, Penny! You are instructed to maintain position!"

"Negative," she simply stated.

There was an audible sigh on the line. "Ironwood won't be happy, Penny, but…good luck."

Penny smiled, and moved the throttle forward. Four shock diamonds spiked the night as Penny lit her afterburners and the B-1's wings cycled backwards for maximum speed. She headed south as a sonic boom rattled the windows of Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

* * *

The two sides were 20 miles apart when Blake fired one of her Phoenix. She deliberately fired it in a shallow dive without getting a lock. It would get the White Fang's attention, but would not guide, except into the lake. "Brothers of the White Fang! I am Blake Belladonna!" she shouted over the open radio net. She was on Guard channel, an emergency frequency monitored by everyone. "Why are you aiding this scum?" She almost said _human scum,_ but that would probably not help the situation.

"This is Torchwick," a new voice said, to Blake's surprise. "Oh, little girl, didn't you get the memo? The White Fang and I are on a joint business venture tonight."

_That can't be right!_ Blake thought with alarm. _The White Fang_ never_ help humans, and never allow humans to help them. He's lying, he's got to be! _Deep down, however, Blake knew Torchwick wasn't lying. "Tell me what your little operation is and I won't blow your ass out of the sky, Torchwick," Blake replied.

"Oh, I wouldn't say _little_ operation…kitty cat."

Blake's alarm at Torchwick knowing her secret was not half as frightening as the next call from Haisla, whose radar had finally burned through the jamming. "Sun Lead, Ruby Four, be advised, raid count is now eighteen bandits."

"Oh, shit," Sun called out. "Twelve bandits, six o'clock high."

* * *

_Over Lake Michigan_

_Near Milwaukee, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

"Sun to Haisla! We're engaged with eighteen, repeat eighteen bandits! We're in deep shit!" Sun Wukong yelled out as he turned into the squadron of White Fang fighters. To his surprise, they were MiG-21s, ancient Russian hardware. He warned himself: there were still twelve of them, and one of him, and if the White Fang pilots were any good, they could still easily kill him.

"Sun, Haisla. Help is on the way. ETA two minutes." The controller aboard the E-3 AWACS fell silent, not wanting to distract the fighter pilots.

Sun gritted his teeth. He hoped he could stay alive for the next two minutes.

* * *

At Beacon, Ozpin walked into the control tower. The radars here could track the dogfight, and it was better than sitting in his office listening over the radio.

He knew his plan had gone wrong. Ozpin had deliberately placed the combat air patrol further north than usual, then instructed Haisla to delay any attempts at interception, without telling them why. He had hoped that Blake Belladonna and Sun would have waited until the pirates were identified—once they attacked Milwaukee—and then waited for backup. He admitted that he had not anticipated his pilots' aggressiveness, or the stupidity of Torchwick's gang for switching on their jamming suites, which gave them away as enemy. Instead of catching the heist on the ground, or tracking them back to Torchwick's hideout, a battle had developed. Worse, the White Fang was in much larger numbers than he had anticipated, and worst of all, Blake and Sun had thrown themselves into the fight despite being outnumbered nine to one.

He bent down behind one of the controllers. "Situation?"

"Not good, sir," the controller answered. "Ruby Four and Sun Lead are right in the middle of that gaggle of enemy fighters. We have help on the way."

"Good." The situation could be salvaged. Even if his pilots stopped the robbery and inflicted serious damage on Torchwick and the White Fang, that was still a win, if not the outcome he had hoped for. "Who's up there?" Ozpin only saw three blips on the screen heading to the fight, but presumably more were below radar. Beacon's radar was not as sensitive as the AWACS'.

"Ruby Lead, and Juniper Lead and Two."

Ozpin waited, but the controller said nothing else. "That's it?"

"Yes, sir. The main taxiway was blocked by Ruby Two—she had a total electrical failure. We're clearing it, and then we'll surge everything."

Ozpin resisted the urge to smash his fist into a nearby console. His plan was now completely unraveled. Again. "How long?"

"Five minutes."

"ETA for Ruby and Juniper?"

"Three minutes."

Eight minutes to get any more aircraft to the fight. "This won't last that long."

* * *

Blake quickly determined that the quickest way to regain the initiative was to decapitate her enemy, and to do that, she had to kill Roman Torchwick. In between her were five White Fang F-5s, but the pilots had committed to the attack too quickly. She shoved the throttle to the stops. The F-14's wings raked back for maximum speed and she blew through the White Fang formation, leaving a sonic boom in her wake. The F-5s, out of position, turned to get back in behind her.

As the Sea Harrier crept into her gunsight, Blake had to admire Torchwick's tenacity: he was still heading for the Milwaukee airport, now on the horizon. She dropped out of afterburner and tapped her speedbrake to slow down. _Gambol Shroud's_ radar locked on, and Blake selected an AMRAAM. _Too easy, _she thought. _Either Torchwick's not all that, or this is…_

The Harrier suddenly broke hard right, and Blake saw Torchwick's plan: she was still too fast, and would overshoot. She flung the Tomcat down and to the right, splitting her concentration between watching the Harrier and watching Lake Michigan, which was distressingly close. As it was, when she began to pull up, her engines left two wakes on the lake surface. In the split-second she was distracted by the black waters just beneath her, Torchwick made his second move: he rolled down and came straight at her.

"Asshole!" Blake shouted, both at Torchwick for anticipating her maneuever and herself for executing it. The F-14's wings were out, revealing to the world that Blake was out of energy and slowing down. She pushed the throttle up again, which saved her life. Torchwick's 25mm cannon spit shells at her, but instead of hitting the canopy and killing her, nearly all of them ended up in Lake Michigan. Almost: _Gambol Shroud_ rocked with a hit.

* * *

Sun adopted a similar attack to Blake's: he went straight at the White Fang MiGs, as if heedless of a collision. He guessed that the White Fang's pilots were inexperienced, and that this was probably their first dogfight. He was correct: most of them scattered. One, however, stayed on course, determined to bet his courage against Sun's.

Sun smiled. A split-second before his opponent would have opened fire, Sun swung right, as if breaking off the collision course. The White Fang pilot turned for an easy gun kill, marching cannon fire the length of the Ching Kuo. Or would have, if Sun was still there: he suddenly rolled into a brutal eight-G turn. The G-suit squeezed Sun's body like an enraged python, but there was no way the MiG could match the turn. Sun ended up behind the MiG and fired a Sidewinder. It hit the MiG halfway down the fuselage and blew the aircraft in half.

The radar warning receiver whined for Sun's attention; a quick glance behind showed another MiG closing in. Sun broke right, rolled over into a high-G barrel roll, and leveled out: the White Fang pilot had tried to follow him through the break and failed. Another Sidewinder shot, and the MiG spiraled into the lake, trailing fire.

"Sun, splash two," he puffed out as yet another MiG tried to drop in behind him. "Seventeen to go."

* * *

Blake wondered what had been hit, but no warning lights came on, so she hoped it had not been vital. She climbed hard, out of the fight, and once more came out of afterburner: her twin engines had trailed flame and were perfect heat signatures. Worse, the White Fang F-5s had gathered themselves and three were now coming after her; two had joined up with Torchwick, who had resumed his run towards Milwaukee. She snap rolled as a missile flashed past her, fired too late by one of the F-5s, and dived. The F-5s turned to follow, and Blake stabbed a button on her instrument panel.

Beneath the intakes of _Gambol Shroud_ were four small bumps. These opened and streamed thin, mile-long wires with a radar reflector and a flare on the end. At the same time, cameras scattered on the top of the Tomcat's wing gloves snapped on. Suddenly there were now five F-14s streaking downwards. The F-5 pilots, rolling over to reacquire Blake, now had several targets. The pilots knew that there was only one F-14 a moment before, but their eyes and their radar was telling them there were now half a squadron of them. Two of them fired Sidewinders. Blake dropped flares, further confusing the missiles' heat-seeking heads: one hit a flare and exploded; another struck one of the trailing wires. The hologram dissipated, only to reappear a moment later.

Blake let the holograms distract the trailing F-5s as she accelerated. Her radar beeped as it locked onto one of the F-5s with Torchwick. "Blake, Fox Three." Her finger stabbed the trigger. An AMRAAM fell from her wing and guided straight into the F-5, which exploded. The doomed White Fang pilot climbed, stalled, and fell into the harbor.

Blake ignored the second F-5 and now locked on Torchwick.

* * *

"Dammit, she's persistent," Torchwick hissed to himself. His raid had fallen apart again: there was supposed to be no opposition. Still, there was only two defending fighters, and the night was far from over. As his RWR shrilled to let him know the Tomcat had locked onto him, Torchwick again made a hard right break and headed for the tall buildings of downtown Milwaukee. "Go ahead, kitty cat!" he yelled. "Take the shot!"

* * *

"Why, you little bastard," Blake murmured. She turned left and broke lock; there was too much of a risk that a missile would miss the Harrier and go into one of the brightly-lit buildings. She looked over her shoulder. The three F-5s were trailing her, and they could turn tighter than the F-14. Another one fired a missile, which tracked harmlessly into one of the holograms.

Blake abruptly realized she had forgotten the other F-5 that had been with Torchwick. It had stayed low, skimming the docks of Milwaukee harbor, then climbed into her blind spot. She saw it rolling in for an embarrassingly easy missile shot into one of her engines, one that was not likely to be distracted by the holograms. _Dammit, _she thought in disgust more than fear, _that bastard has me._ Suddenly the F-5 broke off and climbed, without firing.

Blake didn't question her sudden salvation and reversed the turn. As one hand gripped the stick, the other worked _Gambol Shroud's_ instruments. The trailing wires were cut automatically by the computer to avoid damaging the F-14, but Blake's quick button punches freed the computer to work its own program.

The F-14 holograms abruptly stopped following _Gambol Shroud_ and went off on their own. The Tomcat's onboard computer, linked into the radar and the threat warning receivers, identified the two closest threats—two of the F-5s—and flew holograms directly at them. At the closing speed, the White Fang pilots found themselves with gigantic silhouettes of Tomcats coming directly at them. One panicked and dived, only to realize with horror a split-second later that he was too low: the F-5 flew into the lake and exploded. The other climbed away. The third prayed that the onrushing fighters were holograms and flew harmlessly through them—only to find the sky ahead was clear. The pilot scanned the sky and caught sight of another F-14 diving at them upside down; he hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was real or another hologram. Blake dissuaded the White Fang pilot a moment later as she rolled level and opened fire with her cannon. She also killed him, as the Vulcan cannon's shells sliced through the cockpit and bisected the nose. The F-5 fell out of the sky into a shallow, terminal dive that ended yet again in Lake Michigan.

_Two left,_ Blake thought, _and Torchwick. The F-5s are the bigger threat right now, where are they, there, twelve o'clock, getting ready to dive. _Out of the corner of one eye, she saw the other F-5, but it was well to the west, over the city. _No threat for the moment, the guy above me is._ She pulled back on the stick for a head-on gun pass, but suddenly the F-5 above her vanished in an explosion. Blake dodged the falling debris.

"Ruby, splash one!"

* * *

No one was sleeping in the city of Milwaukee tonight, as the trio of Ruby's F-16, Jaune's Mirage, and Pyrrha's F-16 roared over the northern suburbs at nearly the speed of sound. Ruby's AMRAAM shot had hit perfectly, and she dropped her tanks into the lake. She spared a quick thought for Jaune and Pyrrha—neither were carrying tanks, and they would be awfully close on fuel—but then other pressing things were at hand.

"Pyrrha, Jaune!" Ruby shouted. "Go help Sun! I'll help Blake!"

"Roger that!" Jaune replied. The Mirage and the F-16 curved away.

* * *

Torchwick was in the middle of a long turn over the lake, trying to get back in the fight and searching for the F-14. His radar was picking up nothing, even though it was picking up his F-5s—or one of them now. He cursed, and checked the sky around him. To his surprise, a F-16 flew directly over him. In the split-second he saw the distinctive silhouette, lit up by the city lights, he saw the red wingtips. "Well, well, well, Little Red," Torchwick said with no small satisfaction, "it's past your bedtime."

Firing was as simple as raising the nose and pressing the trigger. Torchwick supposed he should just fire one AMRAAM, but as the first headed towards the F-16, he said, "Oh, why not," and fired a second.

* * *

The F-16's RWR screamed in Ruby's ears. _Missile lock! Where the hell did that come from?_ A split-second glance at the threat display showed RADAR in glowing red letters. Ruby slammed the throttle forward and climbed, then rolled hard, dropping chaff in her wake. The city lights of Milwaukee and the stars changed places dizzingly. One track dropped off her threat display as the AMRAAM chased a chaff cloud, but the second remained locked on. Knowing she had a second, if that, Ruby suddenly split-S and headed for the streets below. The missile, unable to compensate, could not follow, but its proximity sensor made the equivalent computer version of a shrug and detonated.

Ruby felt _Crescent Rose_ shudder, but that was a problem for later. The immediate problem was that she was now staring at the amber-lit streets of a city rushing up to meet her. There would be no point in ejecting; she would never survive at this speed. It was pull out somehow or dig a very big crater in downtown Milwaukee.

Ruby pulled back on the stick with everything she had. _Crescent Rose_ groaned audibly as the airframe was overstressed. The afterburner howled as the F-16 hovered on the edge of a stall; the nose seemed to take forever to come up, although it was only actually half a second. Finally, _Crescent Rose_ aimed itself at the sky and climbed; behind Ruby, the afterburner had scored a long black streak down the center of Broadway. Glass, blown out of buildings, glittered down like snow.

Ruby puffed with exertion into her oxygen mask and wondered why the wind was so loud in the cockpit as she zoomed away from the city. Then she saw the small hole in the canopy, saw the tear in her flight suit, and felt the pain in her leg.

* * *

Sun was pleasantly surprised to find himself still alive. For two minutes, there had been no thought of kills; it was all he could do to keep from being killed himself. Still, it could be worse, he mused: despite having seventeen MiG-21s on his tail, only one could actually get into firing position, and the others were getting in each other's way. Two had given up and flown west to help Torchwick, but that still left fifteen. He had expended another Sidewinder in a snap shot and missed; he was out of flares and chaff, and he suspected very strongly that the White Fang pilots knew it.

One of the MiGs closed into gun range: the pilot had already failed to hit the FCK-1 with two missiles, and was clearly determined to do the job right. Suddenly, it broke away and climbed.

Despite herself, behind her oxygen mask, Pyrrha smiled. "Got you." She had switched on her radar and locked onto the MiG-21 behind Sun's Ching Kuo. The White Fang pilot had no idea all she had available was the gun and had broke off his own run. By climbing, the MiG was now a perfect, spreadeagled target. She pulled the trigger, centering the gunsight pipper just behind the cockpit. The shells hit the fuel tank right behind it and the MiG exploded. She rolled out of the way of the explosion. "Sun, Pyrrha. You're clear."

"Thank you, Pyrrha!" Sun replied. "Whew! You saved my tail!"

Pyrrha spared a look at the burning MiG-21 as it spun flatly into the lake. There was no ejection. _And I have killed a sentient, living being,_ she thought. _Again._ Then she turned back into the fight.

* * *

Jaune had split up from Pyrrha; it seemed best, to make the White Fang believe there were far more than just three aircraft coming in as reinforcement. He stayed low while Pyrrha went high, the classic squeeze play, and accelerated towards the MiG formation. Ruby had disappeared, but there was no time to think of her.

Without warning, there was a MiG-21 in front of him.

The two MiGs that had gone to help Torchwick had spotted Blake's F-14 curving back to the south, in pursuit of the remaining F-5. They turned to intercept; neither had seen the Mirage, thanks to the MiG's poor rearward visibility.

"Jesus!" Jaune breathed. The MiG was right there. He pulled the trigger almost by instinct, and felt the Mirage buck as 30mm shells punched their way through the rear fuselage. It didn't seem fair; Jaune insanely wished for a car horn, so he could honk at the MiG to get out of the way. The MiG staggered, stalled, and fell away behind him to crash; Lake Michigan was getting its fill of airplanes.

The second MiG pilot only saw her wingman disappear and deduced correctly there was something behind her. She broke left, but this only pulled her in front of the Mirage as well. Jaune's fingers were still on the trigger, and the shells marched from the cockpit to the tail of the MiG-21. The fuel tanks touched off and the MiG exploded directly in front of him. There was no time to dodge: Jaune put his head down and flew through the explosion. Something rattled off his wings and the canopy, but he was through. He looked up through the canopy: one quadrant was starred badly, but the bulletproof windscreen had held.

Two kills in less than ten seconds. _Holy God,_ Jaune thought.

* * *

Torchwick stayed low as he cruised over the lake, and loudly cursed Sienna Khan, the White Fang, and whatever idiot had planned this operation. He was down nearly half his force, and now was facing five enemies—four, he corrected himself, since the red-tipped F-16 was last seen crashing into Milwaukee. _At least I've gotten _some _revenge tonight,_ he thought. He swore as he saw yet another F-5 turn into a flaming comet, courtesy of Blake's missile shot.

Still, it could be salvaged. There were still fourteen MiG-21s, and another F-5 around somewhere, plus himself. There were four aircraft left, and the F-14 and the Ching Kuo must be low on fuel and ordnance. He did a quick 360-degree turn and an equally quick sweep with his radar: there was nothing there, so no more reinforcements. The raid on Milwaukee was a failure, but he could still put some blood on the walls. Sienna Khan, fool that she was, would still pay handsomely for the death of Ghira Belladonna's daughter.

Torchwick climbed, determined to gain control of the situation. He spotted a Mirage skimming the waves below him, flying in a straight line. "Hmm," he mused. "Even these people must have nuggets." He would kill the Mirage, then organize his MiGs and overwhelm the opposition.

* * *

Ruby tried to reach down to feel her leg, but the moment she moved her left hand, the throttle started moving backwards. Through her right hand, she could feel the stick twitching like it was alive. There was damage somewhere to _Crescent Rose,_ and the computer was trying to compensate. Her leg throbbed, and she could feel blood trickling into her boot.

"Ruby Lead, this is Penny. You're at my eleven o'clock level; are you all right?"

"_Penny?"_ Ruby exclaimed. She looked to the right. Outlined against the Milwaukee suburbs was the unmistakeable silhouette of a B-1 Lancer, cruising towards her. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help."

Ruby shook her head, though Penny could not see her. A bomber would be a liability here: the B-1 was very fast and maneuverable, but it was still no fighter. It would be a big target. "Penny, no! There's nothing you can do here!"

"Don't worry, my friend!" Penny's voice was high and confident. "I'm combat ready!"

The B-1 slid under her as Ruby, still fighting her F-16, yelled at Penny to stop. Penny ignored her and radioed the others. "Junipers Lead and Two, Ruby Two, Sun Lead, this is Penny; squawk flash." She wanted to make sure the friendly aircraft had their IFF on. As she waited for a response, she spoke to the bomber. "Weapon bays open, deploy launchers." Underneath the B-1, the weapon bay doors swung open.

All four checked their IFF. "Penny, this is Juniper Two," Pyrrha responded. "We're sweet." Their IFF was on: in a swirling dogfight like this—the furball, as pilots called it—there was far too much chance for friendly fire, and it wasn't as if the enemy didn't already know where they were.

"All friendly aircraft, dive away, please. I am weapons free." She let go of the mike button and spoke to the bomber. "Activate DUST." Her large HUD projected all the objects in front of her; it had trouble locking onto _Gambol Shroud,_ but Penny figured that was a feature rather than a bug. Her eyes roved over the radar returns colored red, for enemy, locking on with a mere blink. "This is Penny: Fox Three multiple," she radioed, then to the bomber, said "Launch. All missiles."

From the weapons bays dropped two rotary launchers, each equipped with 12 AMRAAMs. The launchers spun in the airstream and then disappeared in smoke as each fired a missile every quarter of a revolution. Within five seconds, all 24 AMRAAMs were in the air and flying towards their targets: Penny figured that overkill was preferable to missing. Watching the missiles guide, Penny noticed that the blue targets were well clear. She smiled.

* * *

"Holy shit!" Torchwick screamed. So many missiles were inbound that it looked like a meteor shower. Only one was locked onto him, but that was bad enough. He forgot about the Mirage as he got as low as he could. The AMRAAM remained locked onto him, so Torchwick tried a desperation move. He swung the Harrier's exhaust nozzles straight down and stopped in midair. The AMRAAM's computer brain, which was locked on movement, suddenly lost the target and spun past the Harrier. Unable to acquire a new target, it flew harmlessly into the lake.

The White Fang were not as lucky. There were fourteen of them left, and 23 missiles inbound. Thirteen were hit, half of them twice. Only one MiG pilot managed to somehow evade as his brothers and sisters fell burning into the lake or exploded in midair. He was blown apart by Sun Wukong, who was not feeling particularly sporting.

Torchwick watched the death of the White Fang, and cycled the nozzles back into normal flight and flew towards Michigan. "If didn't have bad luck," he sighed, "I'd have no luck at all."

* * *

Ruby stared at the burning remains that had once been a squadron of MiGs. Penny's B-1 made a shallow climb and turn. "Splash thirteen," Penny called out, as if she was commenting on a sports score. "Haisla, Penny, confirm all bandits splashed?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end, then Haisla finally came online. "Er…confirmed, Penny. Scratch that; one bandit is heading southeast, bearing 020, distance 30 miles."

"Roger. Penny is Winchester." The empty launchers rose back into their weapons bays, which closed flush with the fuselage. She swung the bomber's swing wings out to slow down.

"Haisla, Blake. We'll let that one go," Blake said. She could try a Phoenix shot, but the bandit—Torchwick or whoever it was—was already into the approach pattern of Chicago-O'Hare. A long-range missile shot probably would not track on an airliner, but Blake didn't want to chance it. She looked at her fuel gauge. "I am at bingo."

"We all are," Jaune said. "Haisla, this is Juniper Lead. If it's clear skies, we need to RTB immediately."

"Juniper, Haisla. You are cleared to RTB. Coffee Flight is ETA one minute."

"You didn't leave anything for us, Juniper!" Velvet called out.

Penny flew alongside Ruby; the B-1 made four of the F-16. "Ruby, Penny, your tail looks a bit messy. You've got holes in the main tail section and your horizontal stabilizers are a little ragged. Rudder is intact. Are you okay?"

"Stand by," Ruby struggled out. _Crescent Rose_ was responding better, so she dared to take her left hand away from the throttle for a moment. The F-16 remained in the air, so Ruby took off her glove and reached down for her flight suit pants leg. Her foot felt squishy inside the boot and her leg soaked, and she felt faint. If the wound was too bad, she would have to eject; there would be no way to fly back to Beacon before she bled to death.

Ruby expected to see a calf coated in red blood, but to her surprise, there was only a tiny bit of blood, and just a little fragment of metal sticking out of the pale skin of her leg. She had cut herself worse shaving her legs. Ruby gingerly reached down into her sock and pulled away her hand: it came back wet, but not with blood. It hadn't been blood she felt trickling into her boot, but sweat. She stared at the hand for a moment then began to laugh. It was not a cheerful laugh, but rather a thank-God-I-am-alive laugh.

"Ruby, Penny. Are you okay?" Penny repeated.

"Yeah. Yeah, Penny, er, affirmative. I'm okay." Ruby held up her hand to the canopy. "Will you look at that?"

Penny had no idea what to make of it, so she threw Ruby a thumbs up. "Glad you're okay, my friend!"


	21. Nothin' But a Good Time

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: You guys had me scared there. No reviews for the most epic dogfight I've ever written? Aw, man! Really, I do love reviews. Besides the ego boost, it tells me what I'm doing right._

_This chapter is just silly. Sometimes you have to write silly stuff, and I had a blast writing this scene. No food fight in this story, so hopefully the students at Beacon getting hammered off their butts will be an adequate substitute. The next chaper will be half serious and half silliness, with more than a faint whiff of Arkos._

_"Carrier Landings" are a real thing. Fighter pilots do these things. They are crazy people. So, by the way, is yelling insults at someone to compliment them (though that's not limited to fighter pilots)._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

_Crescent Rose_ taxied into the hardstand, easier than Ruby would have thought. She shut the engine down and began to unstrap as the canopy opened. Her hands shook so badly that she could not get the straps off; her crew chief, after setting the ladder, helped her. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" he asked. He saw the hole in the canopy.

"Yeah. I'm okay. She was a little hard to control." To Ruby's embarrassment, once all the straps, and radio and oxygen connections were removed, the crew chief picked her up and gingerly carried her down the ladder.

Yang was there, and her broad grin was replaced by concern. "You okay, sis?"

Ruby nodded. "I'm fine!" she exclaimed. "Just a bit of shrapnel. Chief, you didn't have to do that!" The big sergeant shrugged. Ruby limped over to look at the tail. The horizontal stabilizers were mostly intact, but the rear edges were shredded and pitted. The tail was the worst: a fist sized hole was punched directly through it, obliterating the SG tailcode and data block. The rudder was all right, and so was the engine. Ruby felt sick. She had been extraordinarily lucky not to lose the aircraft. In her mind's eye, she saw the streets of Milwaukee hurtling up at her again.

"You okay?" Yang repeated. She saw her sister turning pale.

Ruby leaned against the Sidewinder still fastened to the port missile rail. "Just got the hell scared out of me." She took a deep breath. "Yang, Dad would not approve, and technically it's illegal in the state of Wisconsin, but I think I want to drink tonight. Heavily."

Yang clapped her on the back. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go see how Blake is doing."

As they walked away from _Crescent Rose,_ Ruby remembered. "How's Weiss?"

"Mad as hell. Her plane died on her. Complete electrical failure. She ended up blocking the main taxiway. That's why we didn't get anyone in the air for five minutes." She motioned at her own flight suit. "I didn't even get _Ember Celica_ to the runway before they told us to stand down because the fight was over. But hey—at least one of us got a kill tonight."

* * *

Blake's F-14 was in its hardstand and already had the canopy open. Yang and Ruby had acquired a crowd as they approached the Tomcat; the crowd split as Sun Wukong shut down his FCK-1A. The pilots and ground crew erupted in cheers as Sun stood triumphantly in his seat and held up three fingers.

Blake was beneath the huge Tomcat, checking out the damage to _Gambol Shroud._ In the week that they had known her, Yang and Ruby had never heard Blake curse much, but now there was some extremely bad language coming from both the Faunus girl and her Navy plane captain. As Yang and Ruby got close, they saw Blake and the plane captain staring at _Gambol Shroud's_ tail. Normally, there was a "beaver tail" that stuck out between the F-14's engines, which held the rear navigation light. The light was gone, along with the beaver tail, which was nothing more than a ragged hunk. "You got hit?" Ruby asked.

"Yes, goddammit," Blake snarled. Yang noticed that, despite the stress of the dogfight and a damaged aircraft, Blake had taken the time to make sure her bow was on securely. "That fucking Torchwick! He almost blew my ass off!"

"He almost got me too," Ruby said, quietly.

"Who cares!" Yang shouted. "You both got back! How many did you get?"

Blake suddenly noticed that a crowd had gathered around the F-14, and there were a lot of expectant eyes looking at her. She blinked and suddenly found something fascinating about her boots. "Four," she said in a barely audible voice. "I got four."

Yang didn't know why Blake was being so subdued, but she repeated the number louder for the crowd. Another cheer went up. Yang reached out and grabbed Blake, quickly followed by more hands, and to her acute agitation, Blake found herself hoisted onto the shoulders of one Yang Xiao Long. Sun was being carried towards her, still holding up three fingers on one hand. Blake could read his lips as he asked a question, unheard over the din, and despite herself, held up four fingers.

"Yay, Blake!" Ruby yelled. "Yay, Sun!" Her fear and the pain in her leg was forgotten in the excitement.

"Get up there too, Ruby!" Yang ordered, and before she knew it, Ruby was up on the shoulders of Sage Ayana of Sun Flight. The crowd turned and started heading down the flightline, still cheering, yelling, and letting out friendly curses and war cries. They were carried past _Myrtenaster_, back in its hardstand, inspection panels open. Over one was bent Weiss, and Ruby called out, but Weiss studiously ignored the crowd as she and her ground crew pored over what had happened to the Typhoon.

They passed the final set of hardstands, where Jaune's _Crocea Mors_ and Pyrrha's _Milo_ was parked. "Yeah, you too, you crazy bastard!" Ruby heard Yang yell, and she saw a stupidly grinning Jaune being carried on the shoulders of Lie Ren. "No, no, no!" she heard Pyrrha protesting, and then—fighting all the way—she too was carried aloft, this time by Nora Valkyrie. To Ruby's surprise, the normally affable Pyrrha was not smiling; in fact, she wore an expression of distinct sadness. With one thunderous cheer, the crowd resumed their march towards the base proper. Ruby kept looking around, but there was no sign of the B-1.

They were stopped halfway there by a solitary figure: Ozpin. The cheers suddenly died and it grew very quiet. Ozpin stood with both hands on his cane. "Well," he said clearly, "it seems we have had one hell of a night here at Beacon." The crowd erupted again until Ozpin waved them to silence. "Between these five pilots, there were eleven victories scored tonight. The raid by the Torchwick Gang and the White Fang was stopped cold." More cheers.

"Sir!" Ruby waved for his attention. "What about Penny?"

Ozpin adjusted his glasses. "Sadly, Lieutenant Polendina is unable to return to Beacon tonight. There's nothing wrong with her or her B-1," he assured Ruby, "but she was ordered to land at Grissom. She sends her regrets and says she will see you later." To the crowd, Ozpin said, "And it's a shame, because Lieutenant Polendina is to be awarded with 13 victories tonight." A wave of awestruck shock went through the crowd at that.

"Three cheers for Penny!" Ruby shouted.

"HER! HER! FUCK HER!" To any other crowd, it would have been the height of insult, but to fighter pilots, it was the highest expression of honor.

Ozpin put up his cane again for silence. "In honor of the extraordinary feat of airmanship committed by Major Nikos, Captain Wukong, and Lieutenants Rose, Belladonna and Arc, there will be no classes tomorrow…" He raised his voice to be heard over the din "…and the Officers' Club is open for celebration!" Ozpin stepped out of the way to avoid being run over as the crowd stampeded for the Officers Club, still carrying the five victorious pilots. As they rushed past, he smiled. "Well," he said to himself, "not exactly what I had planned, but it worked out just fine. And if Haisla was able to track that last F-5..."

The night was young, the pilots were young, and it was time to party.

* * *

_Building 111713 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Weiss walked down the steps into the Officers' Club—the basement portion of it. Above ground, the club held beautiful mahogany tables, a raised dais for formal functions, a thick shag carpet, banners showing the various units permanently assigned to Beacon, and a large mirror. Dress uniforms were the order of the day, strict protocol was followed, dinner was ordered from a beautifully apportioned kitchen, and curse words were not to be spoken aloud.

After having the tables destroyed, the banners torn down and the mirror broken on too many occasions, the basement wine cellar and storage area was turned into the "stag bar" for fighter pilots. There, the tables were made of stronger oak, the floors were Formica, and there was no mirror to be broken. There was, on the other hand, a very heroic bar. Here, unlike in the staid Officers' Club for formal dine-ins and occasions, fighter pilots could show up in anything they damn well felt like wearing—usually flight suits—protocol was forgotten, bar snacks and frozen pizza was the best one could get, and cursing was every other word.

Luckily, fighter pilot bars were similar the world over, no matter what language was spoken, so Weiss was used to the revolting language, the awful smell of stale beer and cigarettes, and the general dank atmosphere. When she reached the base of the stairs, someone slapped her back and pressed a cold beer into her hands. Weiss accepted it without comment, snapped off the top with her bare hands, and took a deep drink. She winced; American beer was so weak.

In one corner of the room, a 1950s-era jukebox screamed out Electric Light Orchestra's _Mr. Blue Sky_ and was ignored by the pilots, who were all engaged in conversation and mock dogfights. Weiss had noticed in her interactions with American fighter pilots that their musical tastes fell into two categories: those who loved country music and those who complained that country music was essentially the same damn song. She searched for Ruby Flight. In the middle of the room was Sun, describing and embellishing his epic fight for survival. His tail held his beer, leaving his hands to swoop around to describe the battle better. She spotted Ruby Flight, at a table in the corner opposite the jukebox. Weiss moved in that direction.

At last, Weiss made it to the table and took a seat. It was a little quieter here. Ruby, Blake and Yang sat in a semicircle. In front of Yang, who had her feet up on the table, were four bottles, three of them empty, but the blonde showed no signs of being drunk; she was smiling at Ruby. Blake, who had three bottles in front of her as well, did not look any different than normal either. Ruby, on the other hand, was staring at a drink glass filled with what Weiss recognized as a White Russian, with a stunned look on her face. Weiss tossed off the last of her beer and signaled for another from one of the hardworking waiters working the room.

"Hey," Yang said.

"Hello," Blake said.

"I drink milk," Ruby mumbled.

Weiss smothered a laugh. "Are you drinking that, Ruby?"

Ruby hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yep." She reached out and drank about half of it. She then gently set down the glass and resumed staring into space.

Weiss got her beer and used an opener thoughtfully attached to the table to open it. "So I hear you got four, Blake. Well done."

Blake shrugged. "I guess." At Weiss' raised eyebrow, Blake gave another shrug. "They were White Fang, Weiss. I may not be with them anymore, but I might've just killed someone I used to know."

"They might've killed you," Weiss told her. "Did they hesitate? Something tells me they know that Blake Belladonna drives a F-14."

Blake opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and took a drink instead. Yang did the same, then leaned back dangerously further in her chair. "So, they figure out what was wrong with _Myrtenaster?"_

"No. Not yet." Weiss' fingers tightened around the beer bottle. "A complete electrical failure shouldn't be possible in the Typhoon. There's quadruple backup systems." That thought was good enough for another drink. "It's not possible," she repeated. "My crew chief is going to tear _Myrtenaster_ apart to find out what happened."

"It's electronic. It can fail." Blake signaled for another beer. "Girls, I feel the need to get extremely drunk tonight. How about you?"

Yang lifted her beer. "Hear, hear," Yang replied. She noticed that Ruby had not lifted her glass. "Rubes?"

"Huh?" Ruby turned to look at her. Her silver eyes were glazed. "Uh, yeah. Bring 'em on." She drank the rest of the White Russian, and raised her hand unsteadily to the waiter. "That was goooood! I think I'll have another one. Waiter! White Russian! It's got milk!"

Yang suddenly regretted letting Ruby drink. Ruby had never touched alcohol, aside from a sip of beer their Uncle Qrow had once let her try; Ruby had nearly thrown up at that. The White Russian had been bigger than the norm, and apparently, unlike certain other members of her family, Ruby Rose was a lightweight. "Er, Ruby, maybe you shouldn't have another. I mean, you drank that one on an empty stomach, and—"

Ruby stood up. "You listen to me, Yang! I'm a grown friggin' woman!" She slapped her chest. "See? I got boobs! And I'm a frukmothering ace! You ain't an ace, are you? Don't have no kills except stupid ass GRIMM." She collapsed back in her seat, and slumped. "Stupid Yang, runin' my fun…"

Weiss leaned across and patted one of Ruby's hands—the one still on the table. "Your sister's just looking out for you, Ruby. You're not used to this stuff, and—"

"You my mother?" Ruby shot back. "You can't be, because Mom's dead! Ha!" The White Russian arrived, the waiter fled, and Ruby sank half the drink in one gulp. "I'll show you. I'll show you _all._" Ruby got to her feet, and marched over to where the biggest knot of pilots were. None noticed her approach, since they were more interested in Sun's conclusion of the epic dogfight and his description of Penny's missile massacre, so Ruby stood on a table and shouted, "Hey, fighter pilot assholes!"

Conversation ceased, and all eyes were on her. There were shocked expressions to say the least. Ruby was not aware of it, nor was Ruby Flight, but the majority of the pilots at Beacon saw Ruby as a little sister—one to be protected, and certainly not one that would be standing on tables and cursing. At nineteen, she was the youngest pilot on base. Now that she had their attention, however, Ruby put her plan into action. "You guys want to see a special game my Uncle Qrow taught me?"

"Oh shit," Yang said, and got to her feet. Special games taught by Qrow could be anything from throwing darts while standing on one's head to stripping buck naked and singing the National Anthem.

"Whazzat?" Velvet Scarlatina had made the mistake of telling the humans that a Faunus could outdrink any of them. One of her ears was now flopped over, as if it had independently decided to pass out. "I wanna play!"

Ruby nimbly jumped to one of the smaller tables. "Okay, put those big tables together!"

Blake covered her eyes. "Oh God. I know where she's going with this."

Yang finished her beer. "So do I, and it's super awesome!" She ran over to help with one of the tables.

Weiss shook her head. "I really feel like I'm contributing to the deliquency of minors. What are they doing?"

Blake didn't reply, mainly because Ruby spoke first. "It's time for some carrier landings!" Now the pilots knew what she was talking about, and a cheer went up. Blake stood up—a trifle fast, and she weaved a little—and motioned for Weiss to follow.

* * *

The tables were now put together, and beer was poured over them to make them slick. "Who wants to go first?" Ruby asked. Before anyone could stop him, Sun pressed a beer into her hands, and Ruby dutifully took a drink. To Yang's surprise, she smacked her lips loudly and repeated her question, so Yang raised her hand. "I'll do it!"

"No!" Ruby stomped her foot. "You'll just ruin the fun, fun ruiner!"

"I'll go first," Yang threatened, steel in her voice, "or I swear to God, the saints, and President Shawcross I will do a Big Sister Boob Check right here in front of everyone, Ruby Rose!"

"Yang's up first!" Ruby shouted. There were some groans of disappointment.

As Weiss watched, half in fascination and half in horror, Yang was blindfolded and led to the entrance by Coco Adel. "Now," Ruby declared with weighty importance, "we need a landing singals…a OSL…a guide!"

"She means LSO," Neptune Vasilias said, and stepped forward. "I'm the only member of the Navy here, so I'll do it."

Weiss pointed at Blake. "But she's a Marine."

Neptune gave her a pitying smile. "The Marines are merely a _department _of the Navy, my dear."

"Yes," Blake replied. "The _men's_ department." There were some hoots and catcalls at that.

Ruby drank more beer. "Shut up and let Neptune do his thing with his thing and things!"

Seeing that Ruby was starting to become more incoherent by the moment, Neptune took command. "Very well! Yang, I'll guide you in. Listen very carefully to my instructions, now. When I say 'cut,' you drop onto the table, okay? You're coming in for a night landing—and the deck is pitching up and down! Spin her around, Coco!" Yang was dutifully spun around four times. "Now go!"

Yang shook her head and nearly fell over. "I need some jet noise! I'm not gliding this bitch in!" Everyone made engine noises to varying degrees of noise level and accuracy. Yang nodded and ran for all she was worth at the tables. "Steady, steady!" Neptune called out. "Right! Right!" Yang turned to the right a bit. "You're in the groove, call the ball!" Yang, being Air Force, had no idea what that was. "Cut!"

Yang threw herself forward, arms out like wings. Weiss gasped, sure that she was about to see her friend crash headfirst into the side of a table. Yang managed to clear the edge and belly-flopped onto the slick tables, sliding down the length of them. Midway down the table, Fox Alastair and Scarlet David held three knotted towels across the table, acting as the arresting wire. Yang dropped her feet to catch the "wire"—a fraction too late. Instead of being stopped, she careened off the end of the "carrier" and crashed to the floor. Heads turned in alarm, but Yang rolled to her feet, took off the bandanna, and bowed. "Ta-da!"

"Aaand you're dead. You suck, Air Force," Neptune laughed.

"You wish, Navy," Yang returned.

"Yay, Yang!" Apparently all was forgiven from Ruby. "Who's next?"

"I'll go. I must uphold the honor of Ruby Flight." Blake began to walk towards the entrance and Coco. "Unless you wanted to go, Weiss. To uphold the family name?"

Weiss almost snapped back, but saw the smile on Blake's face, and took it for the joke that it was meant to be. "No thanks," she replied. "I would not want to show you up."

Blake was blindfolded, but she did not run at the tables. Instead, she merely walked. Neptune smiled. "Checklist!"

"Three down and locked, flaps full, hook down," Blake called out. She lined up with what she figured was the way to the table.

"Left, left," Neptune called. "Power, power!" Blake increased her speed to a jog. "Looking good, jarhead, call the ball."

"One-zero-zero, Tomcat ball, fuel…" Blake shook the beer bottle she still held in her hand. It was almost empty. "…fuel critical."

"Roger ball," Neptune replied. "You're in the groove, but you need more power!" Blake moved up to a run, throwing her arms behind her. "Cut!" She threw herself forward like Yang had, and cleared the table edge. She scooted down the deck for a second, then dropped her feet. Her boots easily caught the towel. Cheers and applause erupted as Blake rolled off the tables, took off her blindfold, and threw Neptune a dazzling parade-ground salute. "Your grade, LSO?"

"Nice work, Lieutenant. Three-wire." Blake grinned: a three-wire, the third wire of four on a carrier, was considered the sweet spot for landing.

"Yay, Blake!" Ruby drank the rest of the beer and threw the bottle to one side. Luckily, it bounced rather than shattered, and skipped across a table to be quickly fielded by Ren, who was frantically searching for Nora.

Weiss gave a short nod. "Very well! I will uphold the honor of the Luftwaffe!" She marched towards Coco as the pilots began singing a very off-key version of the German national anthem.

As they blindfolded Weiss, however, Nora suddenly appeared at one end of the "carrier." One green eye was opened wide, the other was half-closed: Nora had consumed three Irish Coffees before Ren could stop her. Now she was not only rather tipsy, but also very caffeinated. "Hey, Weiss!" she yelled out. "You wanna do a carrier landing on a damaged carrier?" Before anyone could ask, Nora pulled out a bottle of lighter fluid and sprayed it on the tables. She then struck a match, but was grabbed by Ren and a suddenly sober Velvet before she could light the tables on fire.

Weiss and Coco looked at each other, shook their heads, and burst out laughing. "I don't see Pyrrha in this melee," she asked the Iraqi pilot.

Coco shrugged. "She left almost as soon as we got here. She snagged a bottle of ouzo before she left, though. Guess she wanted to celebrate on her own. Strange woman. Great pilot, but strange." Coco held up the blindfold. "You going to land on the carrier, or can I give it a go?"

Weiss pointed to her eyes, and smiled as Coco tied on the blindfold. As the engine noises started up again, Weiss remembered that she hadn't seen Jaune, either.


	22. Bittersweet Symphony

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A rough chapter to write, and I hope not too OOC for Pyrrha. The Invincible Girl...isn't. It's one of the things that has slowly, over time, made Pyrrha my favorite character, second only to Blake. Probably one of the reasons why Jaune won't be quite the oblivious dork in this story as he is in Seasons 1-3._

_Cribbed a little from one of my other fanfics briefly, and a bit from Stephen Coonts' "Flight of the Intruder." Sorry, Nora._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_20 April 2001_

Jaune looked around furtively and walked into the female officers' quarters. It was well after 2 AM, and he was violating all kinds of regulations even being here. Still, he didn't hear anyone, and all the female pilots he knew on base—aside from Glynda Goodwitch, who didn't live in the FOQ—were at the party. Except one.

He went up the stairs and knocked on the door to the female half of Juniper Flight's dorm room. He and Ren had been here before to meet the girls. There was no answer, so Jaune knocked again. There was still no answer, so he tried the doorknob. The door was unlocked.

The room was the same size as Ruby Flight's, but more roomy since there were only two beds and two occupants. Jaune could instantly tell which side was Pyrrha's and which side was Nora's—the former was pressed, clean and ready for inspection; the latter looked like a bomb had hit it. The room also smelled of strong liquor.

Jaune glanced to his left. In one chair at the small table on her side of the room, Pyrrha was sprawled. Her flight suit was unzipped, showing a generous amount of cleavage, but Jaune was not interested in that—not at the moment, anyway. He was interested in the fact that Pyrrha's face was streaked with tears, and held loosely in one hand was a bottle of ouzo. She had not even bothered with a glass, and was drinking in what the Greeks called dry hammer—straight from the bottle, without food to mitigate it. Half the bottle was gone. Her eyes were closed.

"Pyrrha?" he asked quietly.

Pyrrha's eyes opened slowly. "Jaune?" she whispered. She blinked, then seemed to come to her senses. "Jaune!" She tried to stand, slipped, and fell to one knee on the carpet. Pyrrha's hair halfway came free from its ponytail to fall over one side of her face. She tried to get up again and failed. The bottle rolled away, leaking some of the ouzo onto the floor. "_Thee mou ochi_…don't look at me like this, I'm sorry…"

Jaune ran to her, kicking the door shut behind him. He helped her to a sitting position. "My God, Pyrrha, what are you doing?"

Pyrrha weaved slightly, her eyes unfocused. "I was…getting drunk. Very drunk. Not quite there yet." She reached for the bottle and offered it to Jaune. "Want some? It's from home."

He gently took it away from her; Pyrrha did not resist. "No, thanks. But why here?" He tried a smile. "Pyrrha, if you want to get drunk tonight, that's fine, but don't do it alone."

Pyrrha shook her head. "Don't want…people to see me…don't want people to ask…why."

"Huh? We're all celebrating." He thumbed at himself. "I got two tonight, Pyrrha. See? All that extra night flying training you've been giving me is paying off."

Pyrrha looked up at him. Her lips trembled and she burst into tears. Jaune, thinking to himself that he would never, ever understand females of any nationality, just held her as she turned and buried her face in his chest. He hesitated, then stroked her hair.

After a few minutes of letting Pyrrha bawl into his flight suit, Jaune asked, "C'mon, Pyrrha. This isn't you. You're not like this!"

Pyrrha suddenly leaned back and slapped Jaune. There was no force behind it, but it still rocked him. Then Pyrrha realized what she had done, cupped Jaune's reddened cheek, and began crying again. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry."

Jaune shifted his position so she could lean up against him. "It's okay, Pyrrha. I grew up with seven sisters. I'm used to a girl hitting me." The levity was lost on her. "Please, tell me. What's bothering you? Why are you getting drunk all by yourself?"

Pyrrha put her face in her hands. "I can't tell you, Jaune."

"Hey, if it's top secret, I won't tell anyone. Remember? You know my secret." Jaune remembered. "Oh. This is about Crete, right?" He cursed himself silently. Of course it's about Crete, you stupid ass. She lost her whole squadron. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Pyrrha was quiet for a long time, but then she said something that, had the room not been completely silent, Jaune would've missed. "I killed them all."

Jaune stared down at her. "Pyrrha?"

She nodded as if to confirm to herself. "Yes, I did. I killed them all."

"Your squadron?" He shook his head. "C'mon, Pyr! That's just the ouzo talking. You didn't kill your squadron, the air pirates—"

"I killed the air pirates." Pyrrha's voice became a growl, and her face screwed up into an expression of utter, terrifying hatred, so much that Jaune involuntarily scooted away from her. Pyrrha spun around and advanced on him on hands and knees, a look on her face so predatory that Jaune wondered if the Greek girl was possessed. "I killed them, Jaune. They killed my squadron, so I killed them right back." She nodded again, a death's head grin on her face. "I made sure of it. When they bailed out, I shot them in their parachutes." Her grin suddenly faded, and Pyrrha seemed confused. "It's strange, Jaune…to realize…" She touched his arm. "To realize…how soft the human body is. To see what a twenty millimeter shell does to it. Sometimes there's just a pink mist, and sometimes…the body comes apart. Like a rag…" Pyrrha suddenly turned green and she fought down a gag.

Jaune moved fast. He got an arm around her waist and half-dragged, half-carried her to the bathroom. He had barely gotten her head over the toilet before Pyrrha vomited. Jaune pulled her hair back into its ponytail as Pyrrha continued to throw up, shuddering and shaking. After a few minutes, there was nothing left in her stomach, so Jaune grabbed a towel—seeing the monogram on it, he thought sorry, Nora—and handed it to Pyrrha. She took it gratefully, wiped her mouth, flushed the toilet, and leaned back on the cool tile floor and wall. He leaned back next to her, ready in case she needed to be carried back to the commode.

Pyrrha sighed. "I'm…not much of a drinker, Jaune."

"Me neither. I'm not a very good Frenchman." Actually, Jaune could hold his liquor quite well, but this was not the time to be competitive.

"You see, I was late." It took Jaune a moment to realize Pyrrha was talking about Crete. "My F-16—not Milo, but another one—suffered a radar failure. The pirates were going to attack Heraklion; it was the biggest raid in decades. My squadron was the closest, so they were ordered to go without me. It was the right thing to do, but our radar controllers…they didn't know it was twice as many pirates as normal. There were eleven of my people up there, but there were twenty pirates. My boys and girls got some of them; the ground SAM operators got a few more. By the time I got there, there were still ten pirates left, and none of mine. It was at low level over the water, like tonight, so none of mine got out. Eleven men and women. I don't know if any of them got out, if they died in high-speed ejections, or were killed when they hit the water, or they drowned. But none survived. Aristotelis, Nikoletta, Aleka, Evdokia, Dimitrios…"

"Pyrrha, please!" Jaune pleaded. "Don't do this to yourself!"

Pyrrha acted as if she had not heard him. Jaune wondered if she had. She was staring into space, her green eyes blank and dull. "…Markos, Georgios, Gianni, Tasia, Aniketos, Spiro. All gone. So I shot down all of the pirates that were left. And if they bailed out, I gunned them in their parachutes. It wasn't easy saving enough ammunition to do it, but I managed. I am very good, you see. So good that the Hellenic Republic awarded me their highest honor, the Cross of Valor, gave me a parade, even put me on a cereal box." Jaune tensed, as Pyrrha looked sick again, but she didn't throw up this time. "I think there's even a statue of me somewhere. Pyrrha Nikos: the female Achilles of the Air, the Invincible Girl. Some victory," Pyrrha snorted. "If I had been there, Jaune," she said, acknowledging him for the first time since he'd dragged her into the bathroom, "some of them would've survived, at least. But I wasn't, and they died. And then, I committed murder."

"They were pirates—"

"They were still human beings." Pyrrha began to cry again, but this time it was almost without noticing; two tears slowly trailed down her already stained cheeks. "I told myself I would never take another human life again, Jaune. I know it was a foolish promise, given our line of work. But I thought I would only fight GRIMM. And now, tonight, I killed someone else."

Jaune leaned his head back against the bathroom wall. In his mind's eye, he replayed the dogfight. Had either of his victims survived? It was not likely. Like in Pyrrha's fight near Crete, it had been over the water. He had seen his shells go through the canopy of his second kill. The first one might have gotten out, but Lake Michigan in April would kill in minutes. Jaune doubted that the White Fang would have bailed out in any case. _They probably had orders not to be taken alive._ Jaune's hands twitched. _Who's the leader of the White Fang? Sienna Khan. Dieu, I'd like to kill her right now. Not right to order someone to die like that. But still…I've killed as well. Blake was right. It's murder. Despite that, Jaune could not feel the same level of guilt that Pyrrha was obviously experiencing. They would've killed me if it was the other way around. That Torchwick guy was angling for a shot on me when Penny opened up. Would they have felt guilt for killing me? Are the White Fang even capable of that anymore? Stop it, Jaune, he commanded himself, would you rather be dead and innocent, or alive and guilty?_

"I think I killed some people tonight too," Jaune admitted, after awhile. Pyrrha did not respond, and when he looked over, he realized she had passed out. Her head was resting on her chest and she was breathing softly. "Damn," he sighed.

* * *

They could not stay in the bathroom. With some effort, he got his hands under her shoulders and got her somewhat to her feet. She woke up enough that she was not completely dead weight, and luckily—though he did not look it—Jaune was actually fairly strong. He was able to get Pyrrha to her bed and deposit her on it. Gently, he took off her boots and socks.

Jaune was tempted to leave at that point, but then saw her flight suit, stained with sweat, vomit and ouzo. "I can't leave you like this," he said aloud. With a lot of effort and grunting, Jaune got Pyrrha's flight suit off. It was like trying to peel a banana, except that the banana was alive and occasionally moved. Jaune was fervently glad for three things: one, that Pyrrha was not like Yang a few days back and wore underwear under her flight suit; two, that Pyrrha's underwear was functional rather than sexy; and three, Nora was nowhere near the room. Jaune was sure that his life would be measured in very painful seconds if the diminutive A-10 pilot was to walk in. Jaune was a gentleman, but not so much so that he didn't notice that, even sweat-plastered and reeking of booze and puke, Pyrrha Nikos was still quite beautiful.

He turned her over on one side so, if she threw up again, Pyrrha wouldn't choke. Then he drew the covers over her. "You poor girl," Jaune whispered. "You've just about had enough of all this, haven't you? In the morning you're going to have a hell of a hangover, but drunk or sober, you're a good person, Pyrrha."

Jaune switched off the lights and headed for the door, pausing to take the ouzo with him. As he opened the door, he heard Pyrrha mumble, "I heard that, Jaune."

"It's okay, Pyr," Jaune smiled. "I meant it. Good night."

* * *

Jaune did not return to the club—it was now well past 3 AM—but if he had, he would've seen the party was beginning to wind down. Glynda Goodwitch had timed her arrival for that moment.

To her pleasant surprise, the debauchery wasn't quite as bad as she'd feared. The carrier landings had ended an hour before, when the pilots got bored and Ruby had passed out. She was lying on a table, legs dangling over the edge, arms folded over her chest; she looked happily dead. Someone had put a folded flight suit under her head. Most of the pilots had drifted off after a game of Dodge the GRIMM, which consisted of trying to run from one side of the bar to the other while everyone else threw beer bottles at them. Luckily it had been done against the far wall, so Glynda's boots did not crunch on glass.

In one corner, Sun was now in his seventh retelling of the dogfight, though Glynda was amused to see that he was now describing how he fought off fifty White Fang, and his audience consisted of a sleeping Neptune. Velvet lay curled up in another corner, while in another, Coco and Scarlet lay unconscious, their arms around each other. In the last corner sat Weiss, Yang and Blake. Weiss, sipping on ginger ale, was the only one still upright. Yang and Blake were collapsed over the table, surrounded by shot glasses. When Weiss saw Glynda, she stood and walked over to the bar. "Still sober?" Glynda asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Weiss replied. "Only had three beers. I've been sipping on this ever since." She held up the can of ginger ale.

"Glad someone showed some responsibility." Glynda motioned at the other three members of Ruby Flight. "What happened to them?"

"Ruby had two White Russians and two beers. First time drinking. Yang and Blake decided to have a contest over who could drink the most tequila shooters. Yang won, but she passed out right after Blake."

"And what's this?" Glynda pointed to the bar. Atop it, lying face down and her bottom covered with a bar towel, was the naked form of Nora, snoring away contentedly.

"Oh, yes. Nora consumed three Irish Coffees and four beers, got up on the bar, and announced that she didn't, and I quote, know any tricks or anything, so she would just strip. And she did. Ren tried to stop her, but she punched him out, and well…" Weiss shrugged. "Ren was able to find a towel after he came to, and she passed out on her front, at least. Not really passed out, just sort of subsided."

"That's inaccurate, Oberleutnant Schnee," Glynda snapped.

"Ma'am?" Weiss asked, wondering if Glynda had been drinking as well.

"You said Lieutenant Valkyrie was naked, but she is not." Glynda pointed at Nora's feet. "She's still wearing her socks."

It took a moment for Weiss to realize that Glynda had made a joke. They stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. It was the only sound in the room: Sun had finally joined his wingman on the floor. Weiss wiped her eyes. "Well, ma'am, I think the party has concluded. Ren went to go get some clothes for Nora. I don't know how I'm going to get these three home."

"I'll help you," Glynda said. "It certainly isn't the first time I've had to do this. There was a time over in Norway back in '83 when Ozpin and Qrow…" She stopped herself just in time. "Well. You're not interested in that. I can get Lieutenant Belladonna, if you get Captain Long, and—"

"—and I can get Lieutenant Rose." Cardin Winchester stepped into the bar.

* * *

In the end, it was Weiss who dragged Ruby behind her, both of the smaller girl's arms over her shoulders. She wheezed under the dead weight of her wingmate. Glynda was having no easier time with Yang, who had revived enough that she was dragging Glynda the width of the sidewalk, singing I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys at the top of her lungs. Cardin carried Blake in his arms like she was a baby; Weiss had heard that Cardin pumped iron on a regular basis.

They were nearing the FOQ; Yang was now belting out the Macarena, except that she didn't speak Spanish and didn't really know the lyrics. "Thank you for doing this," Weiss puffed out.

"It's all right. I used to do this for my mother when she got on the booze." Cardin shrugged. "Besides, I was told by Colonel Goodwitch up there that I needed to perform an act of contrition to be let back in the bar. I figure carrying the jarhead here was good enough."

They went inside and Weiss abruptly realized she was going to have to drag Ruby up a flight of stairs. Cardin sniffed, threw Blake over one shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes, then lifted Ruby onto the other. Weiss nodded her thanks, straightened up, and heard her back pop alarmingly. Cardin carried both women up the stairs. Ahead of them, Glynda and Yang had reached Ruby Flight's dorm room: Weiss could hear Yang angrily inform Colonel Goodbitch that she could open her own damn door, fuck you very much. "Why do you hate Faunus so much?" Weiss suddenly asked Cardin.

"Direct, huh? I like that about you." He slapped Blake's rump. Weiss abruptly realized that Blake's ribbon had come off somewhere between the bar and the dorm; there was no way Cardin had not noticed her ears. "It's simple, actually. The White Fang killed my father. Not in a dogfight, either—he just happened to be eating in a café in Berlin that they felt like blowing up."

Weiss remembered her own opinion of the White Fang. "They're not all like that. The Faunus, I mean."

"With all due respect, Oberleutnant, I really don't give a flying fuck." Without another word, Cardin carried them into Ruby Flight's dorm room. With surprising gentleness, he deposited Ruby in her bed—Weiss noticed that Cardin had figured out which one was hers. Glynda had gotten Yang in bed, except that she was actually in Blake's; Yang was out cold the moment her head hit the pillow, a beatific smile on her face. Cardin's face lit up with unholy joy, and with a chortle, he put Blake into bed next to Yang, with the same gentleness he had shown Ruby, to Weiss' surprise. Glynda frowned, but said nothing, just motioned him out of the room. "Good night, Ice Queen," he said over his shoulder.

"Good night, asshole," Weiss smiled back. Cardin only laughed and closed the door.


	23. Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little short and sweet this time: the morning after the big party. Just rememeber, kids: drinking to excess is bad, mmkay? Poor Ruby._

* * *

_Cleveland Downtown Airport_

_Ruins of Cleveland, Ohio Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Roman Torchwick took a drink of red wine from the bedstead, stood naked in front of the window blinds, and watched the sunrise play over Lake Erie. From this angle, everything looked pristine, as he was facing north; the ruins of Cleveland were south, behind him.

No one could explain why the Soviet Union had nuked Cleveland, Ohio. There was nothing strategic there, no particular war industry that anyone could remember, other than the steel industry. Some said that the Russians had actually targeted Akron and missed; others said that the Russian battery commander in Cuba had it in for the Cleveland Browns. The two megaton warhead hadn't even detonated in Cleveland proper, but in Shaker Heights to the east. It still devastated and flattened the city, and killed over 230,000 people outright. Thousands more had died over the next few weeks, and those structures that had survived the destruction were abandoned due to radiation. As far as anyone in the Remnant of the United States was concerned, Cleveland was a radioactive hellscape best to be avoided.

Which made it perfect as a hideout. In actuality, the nuclear explosion had been an airburst, so radiation had faded for the most part over the next few years, but there were a lot of people who wanted to avoid government notice. Radiation stories were circulated, tales of terrifying monsters worse than GRIMM roaming the ruins of Ohio, of mutants with strange powers lurking in the woods, and people avoided Ohio like plague—which was another rumor started in the area. It suited the USC government to spend money rebuilding elsewhere, and thus the Ohio Dead Zone became a hideout for all kinds of criminals, including the Torchwick Air Pirate Gang.

Torchwick had hideouts all over the place, but Cleveland was his main base of operations, and he gloried in the fact that it was right under the government's nose.

He finished the wine and turned. One pink eye and one brown one stared back at him. "Enjoying the view, Neo?"

Neo Politan nodded and smiled. She sat up in bed and stretched languidly. As the covers fell to her waist, Roman also nodded and smiled at the view. "Ah, Neo, you can make even a disastrous night better."

She shrugged modestly. Roman returned to the bed, looked at the wine bottle, and noticed it was just about empty. At Neo's outstretched hand, he gave the bottle to her, and took stock. "Things could be worse," he said aloud. At her raised eyebrow, he said, "It could! We lost nothing last night, really. My Harrier is intact, and the only ones who lost aircraft were the White Fang. If that idiot Sienna Khan wants to keep throwing money after bad, then Junior will keep providing her aircraft." Roman got under the covers next to her and put his arm around Neo. "I told her that hitting Milwaukee was too ambitious. Yes, getting a lot of DUST modules at once would be good, but Beacon is too close. Not when we could've just kept hitting shipments from Germany." He sighed. "Oh well. Our gang is still intact, and that's what counts."

Neo nodded happily, set aside the bottle, and held out her arms. Roman grinned, pushed his orange hair out of the way—Neo Politan was too good of a view to be blocked—and embraced her. They kissed deeply and Neo leaned back onto the pillow in invitation. Roman Torchwick was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He crawled on top of her.

Without warning, the door to the bedroom opened. "How very disappointing, Roman."

Roman hung his head. "Worst timing ever."

"Damn," Neo added disgustedly.

Roman looked over his shoulder. "I wasn't expecting to see you guys so soon. Enjoying the view?" The covers had been pushed out of the way, and there was nothing for either Roman nor Neo to hide.

Yellow eyes glowed at him from the darkness. "I have seen better."

"You were the one who suggested working with those mutts."

"And you will continue to do so. We have big plans for you, Roman. All we ask is a little cooperation." The woman stepped into the light. "And I don't appreciate my people being called mutts," said Sienna Khan.

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Yang Xiao Long slowly woke up. First, her ears began to pick up sounds. Second, her eyes fluttered open and focused on the bed above her. Third, she registered there was a rather warm body next to her.

Whoa, she thought to herself. Did I go to bed with someone? I mean I've done that before after a night of drinking…something Dad does not know about…but no, I don't think I did, because I'm still wearing my flight suit. And my underwear. Wait. Is that my bed? After a few moments, Yang realized she was indeed staring at the bottom of her own bed. That means…

Hesitantly, she looked to her right. Nestled next to her, curled up appropriately enough like a kitten, was Blake Belladonna. "Huh," was all Yang could think of saying.

"Good morning." Weiss Schnee was sitting on her bed, brushing her hair. She was dressed in a freshly pressed uniform. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, actually I did." Yang glanced back at Blake, then back to Weiss. "Uh, I don't suppose you know, but did Blake and I…"

Weiss smiled slowly. "As tempted as I am to say that I caught you and Blake having extremely sloppy lesbian sex all over our room, my honor as an officer and a lady compels me to say that all you and Blake did was drink too much."

"For the record," Blake said, her eyes still closed, "it would not have been sloppy."

"The way you two were drinking?" Weiss raised an eyebrow.

Yang shrugged and got out of bed. "Meh. I've dated worse."

Blake stayed in bed, but used the opportunity for a good, full-body stretch. "So have I." She worked out a kink in her shoulder. "That's strange. I don't have a headache or anything."

"Me neither," Yang added. "I didn't know sleeping with a Faunus cured hangovers."

Blake snorted. Weiss thumbed towards the bathroom. "Then we need to introduce your sister to one. She's making up for all of us."

Yang rubbed her face. "Oh, geez." She stood up and walked slowly to the bathroom.

Blake decided not to get out of bed. "How are you feeling, Weiss?"

"I'm fine. I didn't get drunk."

"But you're German."

Weiss gave Blake a dirty look. "Contrary to popular belief, Lieutenant Belladonna, not all Germans are heavy drinkers. And I have my reasons not to drink."

Blake dropped the subject. Given the tone of Weiss' voice, this was not a topic she wanted to discuss. "You're not going to tell me you dragged all three of us home."

"I dragged Ruby home. Colonel Goodwitch barely got Yang home—I doubt Yang remembers singing Backstreet Boys songs all the way back. Badly. Or calling the good Colonel a lot of bad words." Weiss tied up her hair in its ponytail. "As for you, you have Cardin Winchester to thank. He carried you here—literally." She sniffed a sardonic laugh. "Though I would not read too much into it. He was doing it so Goodwitch will let him back into the officers' club." Weiss inspected her face in the mirror, picked up a tube of lipstick, and began carefully applying it. "By the way, he knows you're a Faunus."

Blake cradled her head in her hands. "Wonderful. My ribbon come off?" Weiss nodded. "Shit. Well, I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later."

Weiss touched up her lipstick. "Given how unpopular Cardin is, I suspect the base is more on your side of the argument."

Blake sniffed at the armpits of her flight suit, wrinkled her nose, and took it off. Deciding that Weiss wouldn't care if she did cartwheels in the nude, Blake stripped and put on fresh clothes. "I'd grab a shower, but something tells me the sisters are going to be in there for awhile." She motioned at Weiss, who was carefully checking her makeup. "Bit early for a date."

"Oh, it's not a date." Weiss, satisfied, stood. "My sister is coming in today."

* * *

Ruby Rose lay on the floor of the bathroom. Her face was the color of Yang's F-15—gunship gray—and her silver eyes looked like two nickels lying on a red blanket. She did not get up as her sister walked in. "Kill…me…" Ruby moaned.

Yang knelt down and pulled Ruby's head into her lap. "It's too early in the morning to mercy kill my sister."

"Yang," Ruby said weakly, "I'm sorry. Please tell Dad and Zwei that I love them very much."

"I'll pass that along." Yang brushed her sister's hair. "I'm the one who should be saying they're sorry. I never should've let you drink."

"I'm an adult, you know."

"I know. You reminded me last night." Yang kissed her forehead. "But you're always going to be my little sister, you know that?"

"Yeah." Ruby rubbed her eyes and quickly wished she hadn't. "I think I remember most of last night. I didn't do anything really bad, did I? I don't remember anything bad."

"Other than call me names, no." At least Yang hoped not. Ruby had passed out a good deal before Blake and Yang had started their drinking contest, and the night was a blur after that. "I guess Weiss got us home."

"Weiss is a good person." Ruby reached up and stroked her sister's cheek. "Yang, I love you very much."

"Aww…I love you too, Rubes."

"Which is why you need to get me over the toilet, because I'm gonna throw up again."

Yang smiled and helped her sister, because that was what sisters did. While she stroked Ruby's back, she resolved that it would probably be a good idea to never let their dad know about this.


	24. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another talky episode, but one very vital to the plot. Plus it allows me to get Winter Schnee in the picture earlier than the actual series. Note that in this fanfic, Ozpin has a first name. He's not immortal and there's no magic in this world...or is there? Heh heh heh._

_The "33rd" Ironwood refers to is the 33rd Fighter Wing at Eglin AFB, Florida. Haisla and Cricket are callsigns for the AWACS (though, technically, Cricket was used in Vietnam for airborne command posts, and...okay, you guys don't care about that)._

_Anyway, on with the story. _

* * *

_Transient Aircraft Ramp_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch watched as the B-52 Stratofortress landed. Stratofortresses plural, Ozpin reflected: this was the last of four. The ramp would be full.

It was a majestic aircraft, the B-52. One of the few prewar aircraft still around, it continued in service because the USAF had yet to figure out how to replace it. Many a GRIMM ground attack had been stopped by a cell of B-52s raining bombs from on high; even a Deathstalker was helpless against the storm of steel B-52s could bring. Ozpin watched as the final bomber taxied to its position and stopped, its bulbous nose only a few feet from where he and Goodwitch were standing. The old bomber—the youngest of them were pushing fifty years old—seemed to sag slightly, as if grateful for a chance to rest itself. On the nose beneath the cockpit were crossed revolvers.

"Wonderful," Goodwitch groaned. "It is him."

"I told you."

"Do I have to be here?" she asked as the B-52's engines wound down.

"James did ask this to be strictly informal."

"Good. I have paperwork to do." She saluted him, spun around on one heel, and marched back towards Beacon's terminal. Ozpin smiled and shook his head, then turned as the crew door at the bottom of the B-52's forward fuselage opened. A moment later, a remarkably tall man bent nearly double to leave the aircraft, his graying hair plastered to his head, the product of a long flight under a helmet. His flight suit was an older type and worn, but on each shoulder, in black thread, were three stars. Both men came to attention and saluted, then shook hands.

"Captain Ozpin," Lieutenant General James Ironwood said.

"General."

Ironwood motioned to the much shorter woman who had climbed down after him. "Captain, I believe you've met Oberst Winter Schnee."

"I have." Ozpin exchanged salutes with the elder Schnee sister. Winter was taller than her sister, about seven years older, and unlike Weiss, who looked younger than 21, Winter looked older. Her features were beautiful but severe; Ozpin was reminded of an iceberg. They also shook hands. "Welcome to Beacon, Oberst."

"Thank you, sir." Instantly, Winter was at parade rest. Her gray flight suit was immaculate; only the slightly flattened bun of her silvery hair betrayed that she had been sitting in a cockpit for the past ten hours.

Despite her calm exterior, Ozpin thought he could sense just the slightest bit of impatience in the pale blue eyes. "I believe your sister is waiting for you inside the terminal, Oberst."

Winter's eyes shifted briefly to Ironwood, who gave her a short nod. "Thank you, sir." She then strode towards the terminal on long legs.

Ozpin motioned for Ironwood to follow, and they began walking to Ozpin's office. "She's quite young for a colonel," he commented.

"She's quite good for a colonel," Ironwood replied. "She's been given command of Jagdgeschwader 73. After she led Operation Hammerfall last year, the Luftwaffe wanted to give her Operational Forces Command, but she's too junior." A small smile. "And she wants to keep flying."

"And her father?"

Ironwood shook his head. "Not here," he warned.

* * *

Weiss tried to stop her heart from hammering, and tried to keep her posture as she waited for her sister. Though she would not admit it under torture, Weiss greatly looked up to Winter Schnee, and spent her life trying to match her big sister's achievements. Certainly Winter had been more of a role model than her parents…no, Weiss snapped at herself, don't think about that.

"Weiss!"

Weiss could not stop a ridiculously large smile. Winter stood at the entrance to Beacon's small receiving terminal. The younger Schnee ran towards her sister, but skidded to a halt at the disdain on the elder's face. Still, Weiss couldn't help but exclaiming happily, "Winter!"

"No salute? Have you so quickly forgotten to the proprieties of the military traditions?" Winter's voice was clipped, Prussian German.

Weiss immediately crashed to attention, executing a salute that cut the air. "My apologies, Oberst Schnee!"

Winter returned it with equal crispness. "Stop apologizing, Oberstleutnant Schnee."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Very well. I would like a full report on your missions here at Beacon, including the battle last night. I shall also need to inspect your living quarters. I'll not allow my sister to remain in any abode that's up to code." Winter fought down a protest at that; if Winter saw Ruby Flight's quarters in their present state, she would likely have Ruby up on court-martial charges for reckless endangerment of a fellow officer, not to mention conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline.

The two sisters stared at each other for a moment, then Weiss' smile returned. "I've missed you, Winter."

Winter's icy exterior cracked, just for a moment, with a smile of her own. "I've missed you as well, kleine Schwester."

* * *

Ozpin poured a cup of coffee for Ironwood, then added a small dollop of brandy. "You still take your coffee this way?"

"It is a bit early in the day, but I suppose it's happy hour somewhere." Ironwood took a sip, nodded in satisfaction, and inspected some of the photos on Ozpin's office wall. He chuckled at one of them. "Good Lord, Stark Flight. How those four did not kill each other I'll never know, but they were some of the best I've ever seen." He walked over and took a seat across from Ozpin's desk. A groan escaped his lips.

"Are you all right? Your arm?"

"Just the rain. Your knee is bothering you, I imagine."

Ozpin nodded. "We're getting old, James."

"Old age and treachery will defeat youth and vigor every time, Oscar." Ironwood held up a hand. "Ozpin. Sorry. I forgot you're not fond of your first name."

"Bad memories, my friend." Ozpin set aside his cane and levered himself into his seat.

"I understand Taiyang Xiao Long's daughters are here."

"They are. Yang Xiao Long was selected for training by the 33rd at Eglin, and I arranged for Ruby Rose to come here as well. She deserved something for singlehandedly preventing the Torchwick Gang from hijacking a DUST shipment. The first time," Ozpin amended. "There's been four other attempts since—two were successful; last night's was not."

Ironwood looked at Ozpin over his coffee. "Which you engineered."

"I don't follow," Ozpin replied.

Ironwood laughed. "The hell you don't, Ozpin. Once a spook, always a spook. You may have left ONI forty years ago, but you're still playing spy games. I read the report on the way in—Vale Air Defense faxed it to me while we were over the Atlantic. Your CAP was way the hell further north than it was, you ordered Haisla to not report the Torchwick Gang's approach to Milwaukee so Sawyer or Scott wouldn't scramble their alert five, and then you ordered them to delay Lieutenant Belladonna and Captain Wukong. If I didn't know better, I'd say you even engineered Oberleutnant Schnee's complete mechanical failure that blocked your runways for five minutes."

Ozpin stared daggers at Ironwood. "I had nothing to do with that, James."

"I said if I didn't know better. I know you didn't do that," Ironwood replied. "Old Man Schnee arranged that little stunt." He took another drink of coffee. "Unfortunately for your plan, Belladonna and Wukong managed to disrupt Torchwick completely, Lieutenant Rose got in the air before the runways got blocked, two more of your pilots—Major Nikos and Lieutenant Arc—just happened to be in the air, and—"

"And your Lieutenant Polendina came in to massacre the White Fang." Ozpin leaned back in his chair. "Let's not forget your own involvement, James."

"Polendina had orders not to intervene. She disobeyed those orders."

"I thought she was incapable of disobeying orders."

Ironwood finished the coffee. "She's not a robot, Ozpin. Just works with them."

Ozpin did the same. "So, you came all this way to chew me out."

Ironwood shook his head. "It was a halfbaked plan, Ozpin, but it worked. Haisla lost the sole surviving F-5 over Chicago, but Cricket out of Yeager picked them up over the northern Ohio Dead Zone. It landed at Cleveland Downtown Airport—which is supposed to be too damaged and irradiated for use."

"Air pirates are known to use those areas as cover." Ozpin motioned to the four B-52s squatting on the tarmac, outside of his office window. "So you plan on flattening them? I imagine four B-52s would make quite the impression."

Ironwood sighed. "I'd like to, but the CIA's warned me off. Seems they have a deep cover agent embedded in the Torchwick Gang. All I could get out of them was that their source is codenamed 'Camo.'"

"Not again."

"Unfortunately. I wasn't made privy to why, especially since Torchwick's already murdered two flight crews, but you know how spies work—more than most."

"I can find out. I still have contacts at Greenbrier." Ozpin steepled his fingers. "Out with it, James."

"Officially, I'm here to observe the Vytal Flag exercise. You'll be entering the guest seminars soon, and those aren't to be missed." Ironwood flashed a smile. "The biggest gathering of fighter pilots in the world. I understand they'll be televised this year."

Ozpin said nothing at first. He was not pleased with that decision, but it had come down from the President. While he agreed that the North American taxpayer needed to see where their money was going to, he did not want the vulture media hovering over his pilots' shoulders while they engaged in very realistic training. Vytal Flag was known to kill distracted pilots, and not just in simulation. "Unofficially?"

Ironwood stood and walked back to Ozpin's photographs. "If you hated that, you're really going to love this." He turned to face Ozpin. "Before I left to visit Germany, I had an hour long meeting with General Luna. He's sending the better part of the 1st Armored Division up here from Fort Benavidez in Texas. They won't be using Beacon, of course, but the division headquarters will set up here. You have the best communications setup."

"What the hell for?" Ozpin rarely showed his temper, but he did now. "We may not be at peace, James, but we are not at war! Having several thousand Army troops roaming around Wisconsin is going to give the wrong impression."

"Luna's being cautious, Ozpin. So am I. It's not the Torchwick Gang we're worried about. It's the GRIMM."

"I disagree. The Torchwick Gang is something to worry about. The GRIMM attack two weeks ago was not that unusual."

"You weren't the only one who got Qrow's message. Did you know that we've lost thirteen Hunters and Huntresses in the past three months?" At the expression on Ozpin's face, Ironwood knew the other man had not. "About half over Europe, and half over the Pacific Northwest."

"Yet GRIMM attacks are down," Ozpin protested.

"Which is also worrisome. Luna believes that there will be a major attack on the Remnant's borders somewhere soon. If it makes you feel better, the 4th Infantry Division at Carson and the 40th Infantry Division at Socorro have also been moved up to the border of the Nevada and Arizona Dead Zones, and Mexico's putting their army on heightened alert as well. It may be nothing, but Luna thinks it's the calm before the storm."

"And you, James?"

Ironwood put his hands behind his back. "I agree with General Luna, except I think the attack is going to be made here. At the Mississippi River Barrier. I think the GRIMM attack that was made a few weeks ago was a probe." He dropped his voice. "And you know why she'd be interested in Beacon."

Ozpin did not reply at first, and when he did, his voice was barely a whisper. "She doesn't know about the Fall Maiden being here, James."

"Do you want to stake your life on that, Ozpin?" This time there was no reply at all. "The 1st Armored will be commanded by General Baum. He's a bit old fashioned, but he'll do. In any case, Luna and the President have given me operational control of all forces in the Vale Air Defense Sector. Oberst Schnee is my EU liasion, though I don't know if she'll be here for all of Vytal Flag. Finally, I'll be moving my B-52s to O'Hare—you're going to need the tarmac space for the guest flights."

Ozpin still didn't say anything. Ironwood waited, but after the silence became uncomfortable, he said, "I'll show myself out, Ozpin. You don't have to like this—I don't. But you do have to accept it." The general turned and left the office.

Ozpin spoke to an empty office. "No, I don't."


	25. Cold As Ice

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I may have to slow my update schedule down a little to every four days instead of every three. I've burned through my reserve and I have to let things build up a bit. But I'm still going strong on the story. Writing this is a lot of fun. (Though a little review every now and then would be nice, hint hint.)_

_For those of you who are old school anime fans (very old school), you will recognize the name of Weiss' crew chief._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Winter Schnee stepped into Ruby Flight's quarters. Weiss cringed as her sister's ice blue eyes swept over the room. It was neat, at least, with clothes put away—or at least hidden from view—and, to Weiss' surprise, the carpets were newly vaccuumed. The window was open to let in some fresh air, and the three other members of the flight were dressed in working uniforms. They were lined up as if for inspection: Weiss was happy to see that Ruby did not look more than three days dead and Yang's hair was nicely brushed, rather than her usual finger-in-socket look. The creases in Blake's uniforms were sharp enough to cut someone with.

Still, there was no disguising the bed situation. Weiss began to introduce her friends, but Winter stepped past Ruby and examined her bed. "Who is suicidal enough to sleep under this guillotine?" she snapped.

Weiss closed her eyes and let the sword fall. "Me."

Winter's eyes rounded. "You are serious." At Weiss' nod, she turned and tested the ropes. Ruby's bed swayed but held. "I did not realize you had a death wish, sister."

Ruby opened her mouth to answer, but Weiss silenced her with a glare. "It was…efficient for the amount of space."

"Unacceptable. Either Captain Ozpin will assign you new quarters or I shall lodge a formal protest."

Blake stepped in. "Colonel Schnee, would you like some coffee?"

Winter graced Blake with a glacial stare. "In a moment," the elder sister said in a tone that implied it would be the ultimate sacrifice on her part. "It was a long flight from Germany, and I have need of the facilities." Weiss motioned to the bathroom, and Winter left.

"Weiss," Ruby asked quietly, "not to be insulting or anything, but…why is your sister such a bitch?"

Weiss ignored the question. "What happened here?" she whispered urgently. "This place was a wreck when I left!"

"We cleaned up," Yang replied.

"When you said your sister was coming," Blake explained with a sidelong glance at Yang, "we had a feeling she was an older version of you. So we did a quick cleaning." She pointed to the sideboard. "Luckily, I have some gourmet coffee stashed away, rather that stuff Yang brews—"

"I'll have you know that my coffee is hecking great!" Yang protested.

"Your coffee could clean an engine," Blake said evenly. Yang stuck out her tongue. "In any case, we did the best we could, Weiss."

"Thank you." Weiss' eyebrows suddenly beetled together. "What do you mean, 'older version of me'?"

At that point, Winter came out of the bathroom and Weiss shut her mouth. Blake pulled out a chair for her. Winter sat; Ruby thought if the elder Schnee's back was any straighter, it would snap out of sheer tension. She folded her hands in her lap as Blake poured all five of them a cup of coffee. Winter sipped her coffee primly, and turned her stare on the table. "Must you slurp like a savage?" It was addressed to Weiss, but clearly intended for everyone, since only Blake was not slurping.

Once they were finished, Winter gave Blake a nod. "My compliments, Lieutenant Belladonna. The coffee was quite good—though I should mention that it is traditional in Germany to provide a small cake to go along with the coffee. Of course, this is the United States and not Germany." She managed to make the observation sound like an insult. Yang's fingers tightened around her cup. As Blake was putting the dishes in the sink, Winter asked, "Might you be related to Ghira and Kali Belladonna, Lieutenant?"

Weiss silently prayed that there would be a GRIMM attack, or Torchwick would raid the base, or a tornado would suddenly appear. As for Blake, her Faunus blood served her well as she managed to catch the cup she dropped. She took a deep breath, and decided Winter would not have asked that question if she did not already know the answer. "Yes. My father and mother."

"Ah. How interesting that my sister is rooming with the daughter of the founder of the White Fang—"

Yang was pushed beyond control, but as she leapt to her feet, prepared to let Winter have it, it was Weiss that cut her off. "That's enough, Winter."

Winter's head whirled in Weiss' direction like a turret on the back of a Deathstalker, but Weiss stood her ground. "What did you say?" the elder Schnee questioned.

"You heard me. That's enough." Weiss stood as well. "Winter, I love you more than life itself, and I deeply respect you and your rank. But these are my friends, and this is our home, and I will not tolerate you insulting them, or this place. I have chosen my path, and if that includes sleeping beneath a bed that could crash down on me at any moment—" Ruby raised a finger at her engineering skills, but then thought better of interrupting "—and rooming with the daughter of the founder of the White Fang, then that is my choice. I thought you had accepted that choice. If our positions were reversed, you would feel the same way."

Winter got to her feet. "If that is the way you feel, dear sister..."

"It is."

"Good. I am glad to hear it."

* * *

Weiss was prepared to launch into a further defense of her friends, or more likely, escort her sister to the door, and was taken aback by the sudden agreement. Winter smiled, and then to everyone's surprise—most of all Weiss'—began to laugh. It was like the sound of a board being drawn across a picket fence, and abruptly it stopped. But she continued to smile. "I am glad, Weiss, because it means you've finally found friends." She turned to the others of Ruby Flight. "I apologize for any insult, and for asking that question, Lieutenant Belladonna. You understand that the Schnee family and the White Fang do not, shall we say, get along? I am concerned about the safety of my little sister."

Blake thought that was the understatement of the late 20th Century, but nodded. "Weiss told me. I'm no longer with the White Fang, nor are my parents."

"After shooting down four of them last night, I'm not surprised." Winter motioned them back to the chairs. She sat, marginally more relaxed; Weiss knew that for Winter, that was the equivalent of slumping backwards. "My sister," she continued, "has always had trouble making friends, even in her old unit. The fact that you have bonded so quickly and easily tells me much about the people you are," she told them. "Now then. Shall we talk about the engagement last night? I am quite interested."

"Before we do, Winter, I have to ask a question." Winter gave her a short nod, and Weiss continued. "_Myrtenaster_ suffered a complete electrical failure last night. In theory, the odds of that happening are somewhere between astronomical and very unlikely. Did you ever have a problem with it?" To the others, Weiss said, "_Myrtenaster_ was Winter's before it was mine."

"I helped test the Typhoon." Winter did not meet Weiss' eyes, and her thumbs began rubbing each other—which the younger Schnee recognized as the few overt signs of nervousness Winter ever showed. "Weiss…I would prefer to not say this in front of your friends…"

"We can leave, if you need us to." Ruby made a move to get up, but Weiss stopped her. "You can say it in front of them, Winter."

"Then I must ask that it not leave this room." The glacier stare was back, and even Yang shrank before it. Once that was established, Winter continued with a deep breath. "Weiss…_Myrtenaster_ was sabotaged."

"_What?!"_ Weiss exclaimed.

"That's nuts!" Yang added. Ruby had been about to say the same thing, so she just nodded vigorously.

Blake remained calm, but even her yellow eyes were wider than usual. "You know who it was, Colonel?"

"I do. Again, I must ask that you neither speak about this, nor intend to take revenge. Weiss and I will deal with the matter. It was _Hauptgefreiter_ Freud."

"Jung?" Weiss' mind whirled. About half her ground crew had flown in from Germany, as USAF technicians were unfamiliar with the Typhoon. _Hauptgefreiter—_Sergeant—Jung Freud was the only female enlisted person in the crew, and responsible for maintaining the electronic systems, including DUST integration. While she and Weiss were not friends, they were on first-name basis. "Why? Jung is a good tech!"

"She is indeed. Which is why…" Winter paused, took a quick look around the table "…I'm sorry, Weiss, but…" Weiss was stunned. Her sister was actually at a loss for words. "Our father ordered her to sabotage the aircraft."

Weiss put a hand over her mouth. "My God!" Yang half-yelled. "Your _dad_ is trying to kill you?"

"No!" Winter's shout reverberated around the room. "Just the opposite, in fact. My guess is that Sergeant Freud timed the sabotage to take place when Weiss went to full power. It was to keep her on the ground."

"And block the damn runways?" Yang was not mollified.

"That was almost certainly an accident, Captain Long."

"Father…" Weiss was on the verge of tears. "Why, Winter? Why?"

"He wants to protect you, Weiss," Winter said gently. "He's afraid you're going to get killed over here."

"Like I would be any safer back in Germany!"

"I did not say it made any sense. You are the heiress."

Ruby raised a hand. "Win—er Oberst Schnee, you're the oldest—wouldn't you be the heiress?"

Winter was clearly uncomfortable discussing Schnee family business, but she answered Ruby nonetheless. "I abdicated the position when I joined the Luftwaffe. The title fell to Weiss." She spread her hands modestly. "You must understand, the three of you. Our father, Joachim Schnee, did not want either Weiss or myself to join the military. We, along with our brother Wilhelm, are the future of the Schnee Corporation. He would sooner see us go into politics. The only way I was able to convince him to allow me to join the Luftwaffe was that I would serve as a symbol of the Schnee family's willing to sacrifice for the Fatherland, while Weiss would serve as a symbol of our family's future." Winter chuckled ruefully. "Of course, he did not think I intended to lead from the front, nor that Weiss idolized her sister so much that she would follow me. Of course, the two of us have always liked to fly—"

Weiss suddenly shot to her feet and brought both fists down on the table. All of them jumped, and Ruby actually fell out of her seat. "Symbol!" she shouted. "_Symbol!_ You mean he wants me to be his little snow angel, kept in her little globe!" Weiss grabbed the chair, and for a moment, they all thought she was going to throw it. She restrained herself just in time. "Or worse, he wants me to be a brood mare, and get married to some high-ranking politician to have lots of babies, just to continue the family line!"

Winter reached out to restrain her. "Weiss, that is enough!"

"No, Winter! _I've _had enough!" Unwilling to throw the chair or attack her sister, Weiss, dashing tears from her eyes, slammed the door open and ran from the room. In the hallway, they could hear an angry yell in German, followed by apologies in French as Weiss almost ran over Jaune Arc.

Winter blew out a breath and stood. "My apologies."

"Nothing to apologize for," Blake said. "She has a right to be angry. If my parents ever tried that…" Her voice trailed off, making them wonder if the Belladonnas _had_ tried that.

Ruby rolled to her feet. "I'll go after her."

"No, Lieutenant Rose. I will. This is…family business. Do you understand?"

Ruby sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

"I thought you might." Winter walked towards the door and paused on the threshold. "Lieutenant Rose, I met your father Taiyang and your mother Summer once. She was…an exceptional woman." Then Winter was gone.

* * *

There was silence in the room. Then Ruby clapped her hands. "Well…since we have the day off, anyone up for a game of Risk?"

Blake shook her head. "No, thanks. I don't mean to be a party pooper, but Sun Wukong called while you two were commiserating in the bathroom. He wanted to meet for lunch."

"Oh _ho,"_ Yang grinned, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Meet you _for _lunch, or _as_ lunch?" She put a hand on her heart. "I'm crushed, Blake! I thought we had something after last night."

"We do. We passed out at the same time." Blake waved at them and headed out.

"Shit," Yang grumbled. "Risk is no fun with two people."

"Mind if we cut in?" They turned to see Jaune, Nora and Pyrrha at the door. He waved at them with one hand while rubbing the back of his head with the other; he had tripped getting out of Weiss' way.

Ruby waved them over. "Hell yeah. C'mon in."

"This sounds lovely," Pyrrha answered.

* * *

Winter did not have far to go to find Weiss. It was in the middle of the day, and even upset, Weiss was not going to cry in public. She had been instructed by the best not to show her emotions.

Weiss was in the dorm's public bathroom.

Winter walked in to find a rabbit Faunus standing at the sinks, looking shocked at the sobbing coming from one of the stalls. One glance from the elder Schnee and Velvet fled. Winter checked under the stalls; they were now alone. "Weiss?"

"Go away!" Weiss shouted as Winter opened the stall. "Just leave, Winter! Go back and tell Father that I'm never coming back to Germany!"

"You have a duty to the Luftwaffe."

"To _hell_ with my duty!"

"Weiss," Winter said gently, "please look at me." Weiss did so. Tears had ruined her makeup, making her face a ruined harlequin's mask. When Weiss had faced the other woman, Winter slapped her. Weiss nearly fell, but grabbed the toilet and the stall wall. She stared at Winter, in shock and betrayal.

"Stop it. Now." Winter's voice was the temperature of a blizzard. "Emotions can grant you strength, little sister, but you must never let them overpower you." Winter waited until her sister composed herself, then stepped backward out of the stall. "You have a duty to your nation. The Luftwaffe is not a country club. If you are ordered to return to Germany, you _will_ obey. Without question."

"That sort of mindless obedience is our biggest weakness, Winter," Weiss snarled back. "It caused us to follow a man like Adolf Hitler into a mass grave."

"It is also our greatest strength, Weiss," Winter answered, without malice. "It allowed us to pull off an economic miracle, and kept us from falling to the GRIMM."

"At what cost!" Weiss shouted. "Blake told me what our grandfather did! How the Schnees made the Faunus and then killed them or used them as slaves!" She advanced on Winter, and to both sisters' surprise, Winter fell back. "Two generations of Germans have tried to atone for what the Nazis did, Winter, and now I'm told that my own family was no better than the SS."

"Is this what you're on about?" Winter asked.

Weiss almost slapped her back for that. "Among other things." She brushed past Winter to stare into the mirror. "Was Blake lying, Winter?"

Winter let out a long breath. She did not face Weiss' reflection in the mirror. "No."

"God in heaven." Weiss thought she was going to throw up. Seeing her sister about to say something, Weiss cut her off. "Don't tell me that Nicholas Schnee was doing what he thought was right."

"I was not going to say that." Winter turned and put a hand on Weiss' shoulder. "Yes, what Nicholas did was wrong—even if it did, in a way, save Europe, it was still wrong. And Father was wrong to order _Myrtenaster_ to be sabotaged. But Weiss…we must be above that. There is a higher calling, and we must obey that calling. Let us be _better_ than our fathers."

"And Mother? I suppose she hasn't gotten any better."

Winter winced. Their mother was always a sore spot. "Unfortunately not."

Weiss pulled herself on top of the sink counter and sat down. "When I came here, Winter, I acted like the heiress. I insulted Ruby, I demanded flight command, and when I didn't get what I wanted, I pitched a fit and tried to get a transfer. And then I dug up Blake's background and thought I'd won a victory by proving she was a Faunus. Instead I ended up learning I come from a family of murderers. I've done nothing but fuck up since I got here." Winter blinked at the profanity, but Weiss cut her off again before a rebuke could get past her lips. "And you know something? Those girls in there, and the people in Juniper Flight? They've forgiven me. They still want to fly with me. They still want to be my friend. By all rights, Blake should hate me, and I should hate her…but I respect her, Winter. She's overcome her prejudices, and I've tried to overcome mine. I've been able to act like myself for the first time! I don't need to hide my emotions and be Father's perfect little doll princess. Do you know what that's like?"

"Yes." A ghost of a smile flitted across Winter's face. "Why do you think I got myself assigned to Ironwood's staff? He might be something of a hardass, but he sees me for who I am, not what my last name is." Winter hefted herself up next to her sister. "I am glad you've found friends, Weiss, but you must remember that duty often must take precedence over desire." Hesitantly, and to Weiss' surprise, Winter put an arm around her. "I will have a talk with Father about this, and we, the two of us, will talk with Sergeant Freud. There will be no more sabotage. You cannot serve Germany if your aircraft is on the ground."

"I'm glad you understand." Weiss leaned into her sister. It reminded her of her childhood. So often, Winter was her only comfort. Her father would be away on business, or leading the company, or hobnobbing with the EU elite. Her mother alternated between drinking her life away or drying out in a hospital somewhere. But Winter would always be there, always be the rock that Weiss could rely on for gingerbread when they weren't supposed to have it, the one who got up early to make sure Weiss was prepared for school, the one that gave the love that their parents seemed to be incapable of giving. Despite her name and demeanor, Winter could be quite warm. "What if I'm ordered back to Germany early, before Vytal Flag is over?"

"I doubt that. The Luftwaffe is keenly interested in what is going on here, and how well DUST is working. As for Father, he cannot order you home. Only the service can do that." Once more, there was the faint smile. "And I have General Ironwood's ear as his EU liasion. He can countermand orders if he considers it a wartime necessity."

"But we're not at war," Weiss said.

Winter stared at the ceiling. "Yes, we are."


	26. Risk Theory

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sometimes you just have to have a little fun, and take a break from all the angst and shoot 'em up with a "friendly" game. A special thanks goes out to Knights of the Dinner Table-I got the idea (and some of the dialogue) for this scene from one of the early KODT issues. It fits the RWBY cast pretty well! And I'm not going to apologize for the shout-out to Firefly or Degeneration-X, either._

_"Legio Patria Nostra" is the motto of the French Foreign Legion, which is where Jaune's gonna end up if he's not careful._

_And if you're not in the mood for humor, stick around to the end for a slight surprise._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

"So the name of the game is Risk," Ruby said, setting up the map. It showed the Earth, circa 1900. "Now Dad sent us this from home, and it's the Apocalypse edition! You get to draw a card at the beginning of the game, and they have stuff like nukes, GRIMM, plagues, famine, etcetera."

"That seems in rather bad taste," Pyrrha said. "Besides, nuclear weapons are banned—"

"Nukes?" Nora's eyes widened. "That's awesome!" She reached out to grab the baggie full of black pieces. "Black armies! I called it!"

"Aw, man," Jaune sighed. "I wanted black."

"Tough kitty toenails!" Nora dumped out her pieces. "Ren's missing out!"

"Where is Ren, anyway?" Yang asked.

"Oh, he's out grocery shopping. He lost the toss." Nora licked her lips. In reality, Ren always did the grocery shopping. The other members of Juniper Flight had quickly learned that Lie Ren was something of a gourmet, and had turned their kitchen into a culinary delight. They kept it secret; from looking around Ruby Flight's room, none of the girls knew how to cook without involving either cookie dough or the microwave, and they might start drifting over to Juniper's room. For Nora, Ren shopping meant pancakes in the morning, and she was not about to share.

Yang chose yellow, of course, and Ruby red. That left Pyrrha with blue and Jaune with green. Yang pored over her pieces, separating them. "I wonder if I should handicap myself."

"What's that?" Pyrrha asked.

"I've never been beaten at this game." She stuck her tongue out at Ruby, whose face had darkened with rage. "I've beaten Rubes over there since she was five. Mom and Dad too, and Uncle Qrow." Yang grinned. "Yep, undefeated champion since 1988. I'm the Miami Dolphins of Risk."

Pyrrha didn't know what that was. She also carefully separated her armies. "I think, perhaps, I've played this once?"

"Don't sweat it, Pyr. We'll teach you." Ruby emptied out her bag of armies. "By the way, why weren't you at the party last night? Or did you come back after I, uh, passed out?"

Pyrrha gave a small start at that. Though she had drank far more than she ever had, she had not been blackout drunk, and remembered everything Jaune had done. She could not look at him, which left her staring at Yang, who was leering at the blush on her face. "I was really tired," she said. "Just went to bed!" She added a nervous little laugh at the end, which did nothing to dissuade Yang.

"And where were you, Jaune?" Yang asked.

"Oh, me? Yeah, I went to bed too."

"Alone?"

Jaune laughed. "Unfortunately." He instantly regretted saying it. It sounded like he had only been helping Pyrrha to get into her pants.

"Well, all _I_ know was that I woke up naked, facedown on the bar." Nora loudly folded the cards together like a Vegas poker dealer. "Good thing Jaune went to bed early, otherwise he couldn't have helped Ren get me dressed and back to the dorm. Pyrrha here sleeps like the dead, so she was too busy snoring away to help." She told the lie smoothly.

"I don't remember that," Yang said. "Then again, Blake did say I was singing Backstreet Boys songs at 3 AM, so I apparently don't remember much." She beetled her eyebrows in confusion. "I don't even like the Backstreet Boys…"

"Hey!" Ruby yelled. "We going to game or not?" The last thing she wanted was the conversation to turn to what _she_ had been doing last night. Or this morning.

"Yeah, yeah." Yang set up her armies. "By the way, Rubes, you want to help me, er, check and make sure Winter found Weiss okay?" She winked at her sister.

"Huh? Oh! Oh yeah. Let's go do that." Ruby finished her setup, then followed her sister out the door.

* * *

Nora narrowed her eyes after the sisters had left. "How dumb do they think we are?"

Jaune nodded. "They're up to something. Look how they set up their armies. They're going to catch us in a pincer." He looked to the other members of his flight. "Nora, Pyrrha, we've got to form a nonaggression pact. The three of us won't attack each other until either Ruby or Yang are eliminated. At that point, the pact is null and void. Agreed?" He put his right hand out.

"Done," Pyrrha said, and put her hand on top of his.

"_Jawohl, _Comrade _Il Duce!"_ Nora exclaimed, mixing three languages. She slapped her hand on top of theirs.

They quickly went back to setting up as Ruby and Yang came back in.

* * *

Eight turns into the game, Juniper Flight was learning that Yang's boasts were not idle. Her yellow armies had swept through Europe like a tidal wave, and now she was headed east into Ukraine. Jaune had been swept from southern Europe and was desperately trying to reinforce in Africa. Ruby had kicked Nora out of North America and driven her south. Pyrrha, who spent all eight turns looking very confused, was sitting in Australia.

"Okay," Ruby said, "I'll build up in Alaska and reinforce in Mexico."

"That's five turns you've done nothing but build up defenses!" Nora snapped. "The name of the game is Risk, not Caution!" She whirled on Jaune. "You've got to help me, Jaune! Take some territory from Yang before she's unstoppable!"

"Yeah, right!" Jaune answered. "Look what happened in Europe, Nora! She beat me like my sisters! I lost half my armies just trying to hold France!"

"Well, I can't help you. I'm trapped in South America." Nora looked at her cards and slapped them down. "All right! I didn't want to do this, but I'm cashing in my cards for fifty armies. Jaune, withdraw your troops from West Africa. I can punch through there and hit Yang."

"You can do that?" Pyrrha asked. "I didn't know you can cash in your cards for armies."

"Sure can," Yang affirmed.

"Allow foreign troops on my soil?" Jaune looked shocked. "I don't think so, Nora. What's to keep you from sweeping Africa if I did that?"

"Jaune, duh! We have a pact! I'd never break a pact with my ally."

"Ah _ha!"_ Ruby yelled. "I knew it!"

"Oh, like you and Yang were really 'checking on Weiss'!" Nora grabbed her armies and deployed them in West Africa, as Jaune dutifully moved his out of the way. "Okay," she said, "I have 75 armies in West Africa. A hush falls over the globe as it waits for the Valkyrian Black Death to attack the Evil Yellow Empire of Yang Xiao Long!" Nora spread her hands over the map with a sinister grin on her face.

Yang raised an eyebrow. "That sounded vaguely racist."

"But wait!" Nora stood and scooped up the dice. "What's this? The Black Death turns south—into the soft underbelly of East Africa!" She gave Jaune a grin of unholy joy. "Throw down some dice, Jaune! You're being invaded!"

"_What?"_ Jaune grabbed his dice. "You dirty rotten traitor, Nora! Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! You'll never leave Africa alive!"

They threw their dice. Jaune groaned, and they rolled again. Once more, Nora obliterated him. Jaune's armies were crushed in a turn. Nora stood on her chair and shook her rear from side to side, swishing her dress, then chopping her hands downwards over her crotch. "Yeah, suck it!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Ruby asked.

"That's the Valkyrie Victory Dance!" Nora said, getting back down. "Get used to it, Ruby, because I'm gonna break out of South America and sing it over your _grave!"_

* * *

One bloody turn later, Jaune tossed his cards into the box. "That does it! I'm cashing in my cards for 125 armies, and then my Gang Green is launching their blitzkrieg against Nora!"

Another clatter of dice. "Ha ha!" Nora crowed. "Take off six armies, Jaune! Your blitzkrieg is shit! Mine is an evil laugh!"

"Language," Pyrrha warned. She had remained silent after asking Yang about the cards.

"My Foreign Legion attacks!" Jaune was not going to go down without a fight. "_Legio Patria Nostra!_" He rattled his dice again.

Yang leaned her head on her hand. "You idiots are fighting in vain. The Yellow Peril is going to turn on Africa next."

* * *

Jaune's offensive stalled and then broke in the face of Nora's crack troops. Nora's smile had widened to creepy proportions. "Fine," Jaune growled. "Payback time." He slapped down one of the Apocalypse cards. "Dirty Nuke! Your forces take fifty percent casualties, Nora."

"Whoa," Ruby breathed. "So South Africa and each bordering territory is uninhabitable for the rest of the game."

Nora regarded the map, and nodded. "Not bad, Jaune. Too bad I've got this!" She put down her own Apocalypse card. "NBC Gear. My armies are immune to radiation! Ha!"

Jaune mumbled a French curse word under his breath. "This isn't over yet, Nora!"

* * *

After two more turns, Yang sat up straight and cracked her knuckles. "Well, Asia and Europe are secure, and Ruby's got the Western Hemisphere all sewn up. Nora and Jaune are killing each other in Africa; I'd hate to disturb them. Pyrrha's nice and snug in Australia—not much of a threat, really." She picked up her dice. "Sorry, Rubes. The time has come for our partnership to end."

Ruby smiled across the table at her sister and raised her hands in a come-hither gesture. "Bring it, sis."

Two turns later, Ruby's Americans were in full retreat as the yellow armies rolled over North America. Her forces in South America had ceased to exist when Yang played her GRIMM Offensive card. Ruby's retaliation, Bubonic Plague, destroyed many of Yang's armies, but did little to affect the overall balance; Yang simply reinforced from Europe. The dice were turning against the reaper, and Ruby was forced into a last-ditch defense of Mexico.

Jaune, whose armies had been virtually wiped out, shook his head. "That was brutal."

"No kidding," Nora agreed. Her armies were not in much better shape. "Yang's got this."

"Oh yeah?" Ruby rolled the dice in her hands. "We will fight to the last man and die with honor!" Yang merely smiled.

"Well," Pyrrha suddenly spoke up, "I guess it's time to leave Australia."

"Why?" Yang asked.

"As Sun Tzu teaches," Pyrrha replied, "'When the strike of a hawk breaks the body of its prey, it is because of timing.'" She set down some of her cards. "This should give me 175 armies." Then she placed her Apocalypse card. "Noble Cause. This doubles the values of my cards, yes? That's 350 armies in all." She picked up her dice. "No offense, Yang. It's not personal."

"Er…right," Yang said, turning pale. "Nothing personal." She had played Risk too many times not to see what was coming.

* * *

Pyrrha's first blow landed hard on Southeast Asia. Yang was still strong there, but Pyrrha had both numbers and dice rolls on her side. Yang's armies were shattered in a turn. Two turns later, she was sweeping into Europe like a blue horde; Yang had stripped Europe of forces to reinforce North America, and those few armies left died. Pyrrha ignored Africa, where Jaune and Nora had practiced mutually assured destruction, and Ruby, with an expression of utter glee on her face, launched an attack to pin Yang in place—more than happy to sacrifice her own armies to fatally weaken her sister's.

Yang saw the inevitable. She gave Pyrrha a cold look, then quietly swept her armies off the board. "You win," she sighed.

"Sorry," Pyrrha said.

For a moment, Yang looked like she was not going to take the loss well. Then her expression softened into a smile. "Ah, well. It was bound to happen. I guess you could say it was a…_Pyrrhic_ victory?"

Everyone groaned.

* * *

"Are you all right now?" Winter asked.

"I think so." Weiss dried her eyes, took out a small kit, and fixed her makeup.

"I'm glad." Winter got off the counter. "I should report back to General Ironwood." She had told Weiss about the plan to move additional forces into Wisconsin. It was no great secret; the entire state would know in the next 24 hours. "Remember what we talked about, Weiss."

"I will."

Winter turned to leave, but was given a quick hug by her sister. The elder Schnee smiled, then left. Weiss followed moments later. As she turned into the hall, she nearly collided with someone. "Pardon me."

"Oh! Excuse me," the other person said. Winter noticed she was tall, a brunette whose hair was combed down to partially hide one eye. She wore the dress blues of the USAF and the silver bars of a captain; her nametag read FALL. "I'm sorry," the captain asked as Weiss moved past, "can you tell me where the TLQ is?"

It took a moment for Weiss to remember that TLQ stood for Temporary Lodging Quarters. "Ah. You must be one of the flights in for Vytal Flag."

"I am." A slender hand was extended. "I'm an Eagle driver out of Lakenheath. Cinder Fall."

Weiss shook the hand; a warm, strong clasp. "Weiss Schnee. Luftwaffe." She pointed in the general direction of the TLQ. "It's Building 73114, I think."

"_Danke schon._" Cinder smiled. "Good to meet you."


	27. Secret Agent Man

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Talky chapter. Big but necessary deviation from RWBY canon here by introducing two new characters I've created. The first, Ruth Lionheart, is because Team CRME doesn't exactly work in this world-since Torchwick won't be in the flight. Creamer Flight therefore had to have a new character._

_The second is Rissa Arashikaze, who again shows up as the main character's grandmother in my Evangelion stories. She won't show up much, but I needed someone in the CIA that Ozpin would know, and couldn't think of a preexisting RWBY character who would work. Don't worry: no SI characters are showing up in this story...though I like to think that, since Rissa Arashikaze is a character that I've written to exist outside time, that she might commute between this Remnant and the world of Evangelion. That's a heck of a job commute. (No Evas will be showing up in this fanfic. Everrrr.)_

* * *

_Building 11318 (Headquarters Vale Air Defense Sector)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Ozpin was lost in thought, staring over the flightline, when he heard his office door open. He turned in the swievel chair. "Hello, Glynda."

"Good afternoon, sir." She dropped a folder on his desk. "Did I miss anything with Ironass?"

Despite himself, Ozpin smiled. Glynda Goodwitch and James Ironwood did not like each other, and even Ozpin wasn't sure why. It went beyond the fighter pilot/bomber pilot rivalry. Idly, he wondered if there was an unspoken attraction between the two. Such a narrow line between love and hate, he thought, as I know only too well.

"Captain Ozpin?"

He shook himself. "Sorry, Glynda. Lost in thought. You're not going to like what he had to say." Ozpin explained what Ironwood had told him, and sure enough, the fury was plain on her face.

"That's ridiculous. The barrier is intact. GRIMM have barely been seen in the Minnesota Dead Zone since the 12th. We need those Army pukes the same way we need a hole in the damn head."

Ozpin rubbed his temples. "I agree, for what it's worth, but this comes from the President."

"And who talked him into it? Ironwood, I bet."

"I don't think so." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's going to happen. The 1st Armored will run around aimlessly for a few weeks, probably drive the locals crazy, and leave. The best thing we can do is just concentrate on the matter at hand."

"Vytal Flag?" Glynda tapped the folder. "Latest team to arrive."

Ozpin opened the folder. There were four files, but the summary was on a single sheet of paper:

_Fall, Cinder (Captain, USAF; 49th Fighter Wing, RAF Lakenheath, United Kingdom) F-15C Eagle_

_Lionheart, Ruth (Flight Officer, RAF; 6 Squadron, RAF Coltishall, United Kingdom) Jaguar GR.1A_

_Black, Mercury (1st Lieutenant, USAF; 31st Fighter Wing, Aviano, Italy) F-16C Fighting Falcon_

_Sustrai, Emerald (Teniente, EDA; 14 Wing, Los Llanos, Spain) Mirage F.1CE_

Beneath the summary sheet was, to Ozpin's surprise, a letter addressed to him from Air Commodore Leonardo Lionheart.

_Dear Ozpin—_

_You asked me to select a flight to compete in the upcoming Vytal Flag joint exercise session. Well, old friend, I think these four will make a great team. Capt. Fall is a natural leader, though she can be a little ruthless at times—too prolifigate with others' lives. I hope you can teach her the true meaning of leadership. Mercury Black tends to crowd his opponents too much, while Emerald Sustrai does just the opposite. Sustrai, by the way, comes at the recommendation of General Camacho—remember him? _

_Ruth Lionheart is, of course, my daughter. Hard to believe, eh? They grow up so fast. Though the Jaguar is not exactly a fighter on par with the F-15 or F-16, Ruth has shown some prowess with it, and she's quite enthusiastic, if young. I think she represents a wild card, and you, Port, Barty and Glynda can teach her how to use the Jaguar more effectively. Just don't let her get killed—she came back with telephone wires over one of her wings the other week, which she apparently hit while climbing._

_I wish I could attend the exercise this year, but unfortunately the MoD is on my back about budget cuts and if the Harrier force should be retired early. They think that just because GRIMM attacks are down that we can cut the budget! What a crock. Not like the old days, eh? I won't say I miss them—not when my knee hurts every time it rains, and you know that rain is all it does in jolly olde England—but at least that was when we were heroes and appreciated as such. Ah well._

_Give my affection to Glynda and the others, and tell them to visit every now and then. This old lion gets a mite lonely sometimes, with an empty house to come home to. _

_ I remain,_

_ Leonardo Lionheart_

_ Air Commodore, Royal Air Force_

* * *

Ozpin flipped the file pages. Cinder Fall stared back at him in a glossy picture: black hair in an appropriate fall down one side of her face, slightly out of regulation, amber eyes and full lips that showed more than a little arrogance. Ozpin had met many pilots with that look; they either ended up winning medals or an early grave. He'd have to keep an eye on her.

Mercury Black was a dark-eyed raven-haired handsome young man, going prematurely gray, with an easy smile on his face. Ozpin was sure that he was a heartbreaker, and would probably cut a swath through the ladies of Beacon.

Emerald Sustrai was a dark-skinned brunette who dyed her hair green, and in a bowl cut. Her expression was entirely neutral.

Ruth Lionheart Ozpin came to last, and his eyes misted a little at her appearance. She wore a big smile, with a thick mane of brown hair that tiny ears poked out of, showing her lion Faunus heritage. Glynda regarded the picture. "God, she looks like her mother. How long as it been?"

"Since Dorothy died? Ten years, perhaps?" Ozpin shook his head, remembering Dorothy Lionheart—a vivacious Faunus who kept the much older Leonardo tied around her finger. Dorothy did not shy away from a challenge, and it had killed her: she had been killed leading the Red Arrows demonstration team.

"That must've almost killed Leo. To watch his wife crash right in front of him. I'm surprised he let Ruth go into the RAF."

"Do you think he could have stopped her?" Ozpin smiled. He shut the folder and pulled out a marker. On the folder he wrote CMER.

"Cemer?" Glynda asked.

"I don't even want to think what the pilots would do with that. Creamer is bad enough, but it's the best I can come up with."

Glynda shrugged. "I suppose it could be worse. You could've called them Crime Flight."

"I was tempted."

Glynda paused. "There's something I wanted to bring to your attention." At Ozpin's nod, Glynda continued, "I overheard Lieutenant Belladonna and Captain Wukong at the base cafeteria. They were discussing the White Fang. I think they thought the cafeteria was empty; I was in one of the back booths."

"And?"

"Wukong tried to talk her out of it, but I think Belladonna's going to go after the White Fang somehow. She's very upset."

"Not surprising," Ozpin said, "given that they tried very hard to kill her last night."

"It's more than that," Glynda countered. "I think she's less upset that they tried to kill her than the fact that she had to kill them. I don't think she's got any loyalty to the Fang—just the opposite. I'm worried she might try to go after them herself—alone. Or worse, drag Ruby Flight into it."

"That would be problematic. We know where the Torchwick Gang is—where they may be—but the CIA has forbidden us to do anything about it. They have a source there. James told me."

"Wonderful," Glynda soured. Like many military people, she had little time for the Central Intelligence Agency.

Ozpin leaned back, and winced when his back popped. "Of course, there are ways around that. What do you think, Glynda?"

"I suspect that they're going to do it anyway. Ruby Flight has a discipline issue—but you knew that when you put a child in charge of them. And even if I did object, you'd do it anyway." Then she smiled. "But I don't object. I might even help. Especially if it pisses off Ironwood."

Ozpin nodded, and picked up his phone.

* * *

_Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters (The Greenbrier)_

_White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Deputy Director of Intelligence Rissa Arashikaze was poring over the latest reports from Japan when the phone rang. She punched a button and then speaker. "Arashikaze."

"Rissa, this is Ozpin."

Rissa's lips, which had been pursed into a pensive expression, widened into a smile. "Ozpin! How the hell are you, you old bastard? I'd think they would've made you an admiral by now and made you retire."

"After what I've done? I'm lucky to be in the service at all."

Rissa tossed down her pencil. "Ancient history, Oz. I've done worse. What can I do for you?"

"Some of my pilots would be keenly interested in doing something about our White Fang problem."

"Aren't they busy training?"

"Let's call it extra credit."

Rissa grinned. "Oh ho. And would the person who is 'keenly interested' have black hair, likes bows, and is about 5'6" with yellow eyes?"

"She is," Ozpin confirmed. "I'm mildly surprised you know her."

"The CIA knows all." She laughed. "And if you believe that, I'll tell you another one." She reached over to the phone and punched another button. The call was now scrambled, in the unlikely event someone was listening in. "What did they have in mind?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Well, here's my problem," Rissa said. "As I told you in my e-mail, we have an asset inside the White Fang."

"Source Camo?"

"The same. I can't afford to blow their cover, and I would rather not get them killed."

Ozpin noticed that Rissa did not mention the source's gender, or even how many there were. "What would we be allowed to do?"

"An airstrike would be out of the question. We're not sure where the White Fang or the Torchwick Gang even are."

It was Ozpin's turn to smile. "I have good intelligence on that, but I'd need to move fast to confirm."

Rissa twisted the telephone cord around her fingers as she leaned back in her chair. "The CIA would not be adverse to an armed reconnaissance over the area…so long as we get access to the pictures."

Ozpin's smile widened. Armed reconnaissance was doublespeak for sending a reconnaissance mission to a certain area, with armed escorts. Should the reconnaissance mission be attacked, the mission force could retaliate. It was a clever dodge around attacking the White Fang and/or the Torchwick Gang without actually ordering such a strike, and provided Rissa an out with her own superiors. "I could have them faxed the moment the pictures are dry."

"And it just so happens that the person in question flies an aircraft capable of carrying a camera pod."

Ozpin could hear the laughter in her voice. "Indeed so. What a coincidence."

"Missed you, old man."

He had the speaker on his own phone, and Glynda's eyebrow went up at that. "Let's hope this goes better than some of our capers," Ozpin told her.

Rissa cleared her throat. "I am officially informing you, Captain Ozpin, that the CIA will disavow any knowledge of your operation should it fail…or succeed. I am unofficially wishing you good luck. I will try and notify Camo to stay out of your way." She paused. "Don't fuck it up, Oz."

"_We_ won't," Glynda said clearly.

"Oh, is Glynda the Good Witch there too? It's old home week. Still kicking ass, Glynda?" Rissa asked.

"I try, Rissa."

"You try pretty well. Best of luck, all of you." Rissa hung up, stared at the phone for a moment, shrugged, and went back to her reports.

* * *

Ozpin hung up his own phone and stood up. "Colonel Goodwitch, I feel the need for a walk."

"Of course, sir," she nodded. "Would the Captain require an escort to the Female Officers' Quarters?"


	28. Breaking the Habit

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little short chapter tonight, as I'm getting ready for a con this weekend. This sets up another big air combat chapter next time. _

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_21 April 2001_

Yang was three chapters into _Ninjas of Love_ when Blake walked in. Juniper Flight had returned to their rooms, Ruby was reading a comic book, and Weiss was staring at the underside of Ruby's bed. She had said nothing since returning from her meeting with Winter. "Hey, Blake," Yang greeted. She held up the book. "You know, this is pretty much just—"

"—filth. Yes, I know. Your sister told me." Blake tossed her purse onto the dresser, then collapsed onto her bed.

"I was going to say smut, but filth works too." Yang turned the page and her eyes widened. "Whoa. Now _that's_ a—"

"Don't say it," Blake remarked tiredly.

Yang shut the book and leaned over her bed. "Sun wear you out?"

Blake gave her a dirty look. "It's been a long day, all right? No offense, Yang, but I'd appreciate it if you just left me alone for a bit."

Before Yang could reply to that, Weiss turned over in her bed. "Blake, what is wrong? Ever since you woke up, you've been antisocial and moody."

"Have you _met _Blake?" Yang grinned.

"Fuck off!" Blake kicked the bottom of Yang's bed, which tipped dangerously for a moment.

Weiss sat up and folded her arms. "I rest my case. You seemed pretty happy last night at the club…unless that was forced."

Blake flipped over onto her stomach and cradled her pillow. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's too bad," Weiss said, getting to her feet and walking over to her. "Because you're going to."

Blake rolled out of bed and was face-to-face with Weiss. Ruby was out of her bed in a second to get between them. "_I've_ been moody and antisocial? What about you, Weiss? You ran off after yelling at your sister! Don't tell me you're any better!"

Weiss' hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, Ruby thought she might have to get between them. Again. "Want to know what we talked about, Blake?" Weiss hissed. Before Blake could answer, she continued. "My father is a manipulative bastard who sees me as little more than a doll. My mother is a drunk. My sister is so devoted to her duty that she sometimes forgets to be human. My brother doesn't care about anything except when the next _Tomb Raider_ comes out." Weiss stepped back. "There. Done. No more secrets, Blake." The confession took the wind out of Blake's metaphorical sails, and she stood there with a stunned expression. "And take off your bow. When you're with us, it's not necessary."

Yang blinked. "Holy shit, Weiss." Ruby looked from one to the other, unsure of what to do.

Blake sighed. She reached up and took off the ribbon. Her ears, freed from their silk prison, twitched. "All right. You're right, Weiss. No more secrets." She sat on her bed. "I just don't understand how everyone can be so calm. Last night, I got drunk because I didn't want to think about it, but today…it's _all_ I've been able to think about."

"Is it about Torchwick?" Ruby asked. Involuntarily, in her mind's eye, she saw Milwaukee hurtling up at her again. Blake hadn't been the only one drinking to forget.

"Torchwick, the White Fang, the DUST attacks, everything." Blake shook her head. "Something big is about to happen."

"What does Sun think?" Yang asked.

"I don't think Sun really cares, to be honest," Blake replied. "He's here for fun and Vytal Flag."

"Well, he does have a point," Yang said. "It's not really our job unless they attack Beacon. I don't think even the White Fang are that nuts."

"Yang," Blake protested, "the White Fang were working with Torchwick last night. They _never_ work with humans. That's sort of the whole point. My father resigned from the White Fang because Sienna Khan kept demanding that we shouldn't even associate with humans—that humans are the enemy. And last I heard, White Fang was lucky to have five or six aircraft at all, let alone anything that could fly. Last night, they hit Milwaukee with eighteen fighters. It wasn't Torchwick's gang, either—all the F-5s and MiGs I saw carried White Fang symbols. And they were all in good shape." She looked to Ruby for confirmation.

Ruby spread her hands. "Don't ask me! I was too busy trying not to buy the farm!"

"I know what I saw," Blake finished.

"And I believe you," Weiss said. "I don't think my sister and General Ironwood showing up here is a coincidence." She reached out and put a hand on Blake's shoulder. "I'm with you, Blake—we all are. But we're just fighter pilots. This isn't our job."

Blake put her hand on Weiss'. "I know. But I don't think anyone else is going to do anything about it." She pointed out the window. "They're out there, ladies, somewhere, planning their next move. I don't know what it is, but it's coming. Our job or not, ready or not, it's coming."

Ruby stepped up. "Okay. Maybe it's not our job, but I think we could at least look into it." She put her hand out. "Who's in? Say aye."

Yang hopped off her bed and put her hand on top of Ruby's. "I'm in."

Weiss turned, smiled, and put her hand on top of Yang's. "Why not?"

Blake stood, and after a pause, put her hand on top of Weiss'. "All right. We're in this together."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "None of you said aye."

* * *

There was a knock on the door. The four girls pulled away from each other. "Probably Pyrrha or Nora," Ruby said, then raised her voice. "Come in!"

"Thank you." Ozpin opened the door, followed by Glynda.

"Attention on deck!" Blake shouted, and all four girls came to attention.

"At ease," Ozpin told them, waving them down. Weiss and Blake went to parade rest—legs slightly spread, hands behind the small of their backs. Ruby leaned against the dresser. Yang hopped back into bed. Glynda frowned, but Ozpin only looked amused. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, sir," Ruby answered. "Just talking about…stuff." Blake coughed politely; Ruby was a terrible liar.

"Would this 'stuff' include some sort of secret pact to do something about the White Fang?" At Ruby Flight's surprised expressions, Ozpin smiled. "These walls are terribly thin, unfortunately. Colonel Goodwitch and I heard snippets of your conversation as we came down the hall."

Ruby closed her eyes. They were in trouble. "We just want to look—"

Blake interrupted her. "Sir. It was my idea, sir." She fell back into the way recruits addressed instructors in basic training.

Ozpin nodded. "Because you believe the authorities will do nothing about it?"

"Sir. Yes, sir."

Their eyes met for a moment, then Ozpin glanced over to the side table. "You know, I could use a cup of coffee. Might I have some?" Yang jumped down and walked over to the coffee machine, and got something brewing. She then selected the least dirty mug, which had her old squadron patch on it and the words _Fighter Pilots Never Prematurely Eject._ Even Glynda had to suppress a smile at that one.

"Yes, it is a problem," Ozpin continued, taking a seat at the table. "What is your plan?" Ruby looked at Blake. Blake looked at Weiss. Weiss looked at Yang, who was too busy staring at the coffee machine, as if by mental power she could make it brew faster. "I see. You don't have one."

"Well…" Ruby folded her hands in front of her, as if in prayer, "we sort of just decided to do this."

"Then allow us to help," Glynda told them. She dropped her voice. "We have permission to try an armed reconnaissance of where we think the Torchwick Gang might be. Would that sort of thing interest you, Lieutenant Belladonna? I believe you're qualified for TARPS."

"I am, ma'am," Blake confirmed. TARPS—Tactical Airborne Reconnaissance Pod System—was a camera pod that could be carried beneath the F-14. "We did some work with it at Pax River." At Glynda's raised eyebrow, Blake gave her a nod. "I would be very interested, ma'am."

"Then we shall start planning that immediately." Ozpin took the cup from Yang. "Thank you, Captain." Weiss held her breath as Ozpin took a sip, but he did not react to Yang's coffee other than a slight widening of the eyes. "Mmm. This is quite good, Captain. Reminds me of the coffee we used to have at sea." He pretended not to notice Yang's triumphant fist pump.

"You will still be required to attend classes," Glynda said. "This will be considered…extra credit. Ruby Flight will be excused from standing combat air patrol duty. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," all four members of Ruby Flight replied.

Ozpin set the mug down. "Good."

"Sir. There is still the question of how the White Fang were able to acquire so many aircraft," Blake said.

"Yes, that is quite the change from our last intelligence reports about them." Inwardly, Ozpin cursed. He had forgotten to ask Arashikaze about that. "I will begin some inquiries with my own sources."

"Captain Ozpin?" Yang raised her hand. "Actually…I think I might know a guy."


	29. Riders On the Storm

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Back in the air, finally!_

_This originally was a much larger chapter, but I decided to leave the second part for the next update. Blake vs. Torchwick is good enough for one day._

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_22 April 2001_

_Gambol Shroud_ leapt into the air. Blake cycled the landing gear up and turned south to make a circuit of the field. She waited until the rest of the flight took off, and smiled at the sight. Night takeoffs were always something to see: there were only the runway lights and the running lights of the aircraft, then the afterburners would be lit, leaving shock diamonds in their wake as they rose to speed, only to turn to purple fire as the brakes were let off and the aircraft climbed away from the base. Then they would disappear as throttles were brought back to normal cruising speed.

"Yang to Bolo Flight, check in." As Yang was the senior in rank, she commanded the flight. The normally boisterous brawler was strictly professional this night.

"Weiss." The Typhoon was repaired, with Winter Schnee looking over the efforts with a cold eye. No one dared cross either Schnee now. Weiss tucked up _Myrtenaster_ on _Ember Celica's_ right wing; the F-15's gunship gray scheme made it nearly invisible against the Wisconsin forests below.

"Sun." Sun Wukong led the other section in his Ching Kuo.

"Neptune." Neptune Vasilias' F-18 joined up with Sun.

"Blake." Blake kept her F-14 away from the main flight. She spared a thought for Ruby, still on the ground at Beacon, no doubt morose. _Crescent Rose_ was still in the hangar, being repaired.

"Roger that," Yang acknowledged. "Squawk off, and follow me. You guys know the drill."

Everyone in Bolo Flight switched off their IFF and flew due east—except Blake. She hung back, wings spread, and let the other four get out far ahead of her. _Gambol Shroud,_ with no electronics on, would be a black hole in the sky. No one knew if the Torchwick Gang had some sort of radar—no emissions were ever picked up from the Cleveland area, but they had to assume the Gang and/or the White Fang had some sort of early warning system.

It was a simple plan. Inbound from Germany was Lufthansa Cargo Flight 1414, a 747 loaded with DUST modules, flying from Frankfurt to Chicago. The assumption was that an unescorted DUST flight would attract Torchwick's attention, and he would try to hijack it. Bolo Flight would be actually north of the 747, which really was loaded with the modules—but was also acting as bait. With any luck, Torchwick would take the bait, and fly right into an ambush over western Ontario. It was a little bit of psychological guessing: though the White Fang had been decimated by what was already known as the Lake Michigan Massacre, the Torchwick Gang was intact and Torchwick would not be able to resist a quick score to recover his reputation.

While Torchwick was out running into Bolo Flight's ambush, the second part of the plan would swing into action: Blake would fly over Cleveland, making a low-level pass over the supposedly abandoned downtown airport. The TARPS pod, nestled between the Tomcat's engines, would snap away with its two cameras and the infrared scanner. Attached beneath one of the wing stations was an electronics intelligence pod that would pick up any electronics emissions in the area—such as radar signals and patterns, both detection and tracking radars. Blake would make one or two passes, depending on the reaction, if any, of anything below, then return to Beacon. Besides the two pods, she carried two external drop tanks, three AMRAAMs, and a Sidewinder. The latter were for self-defense only; Blake had no intention of dogfighting tonight if she could avoid it. She had one mission: get the pictures and get out.

There was another wrinkle to the operation, that had just been revealed as they were finishing mission planning that afternoon: a major storm was sweeping in off the Atlantic. It would not have reached Cleveland by the time of the mission, and Flight 1414 would be ahead of it…but it would make perfect cover from an approach from the east. Blake intended to fly through the leading edge of the thunderstorm. When she had announced that, Yang's eyebrows had risen into her hair, and Neptune had said simply, "YGBSM?" That was old fighter pilot shorthand for _You've Got to Be Shitting Me._ Blake shrugged. It was a risk, but life was a risk.

Since Ruby couldn't go along, she got the consolation prize of naming the operation. She named it Operation Starlight, which Blake didn't think was terribly inventive.

* * *

Lake Michigan slipped beneath them, twenty thousand feet below. Blake spared the dark waters a glance, then looked down the coast at the amber glow of Milwaukee and Chicago on the horizon. Above her scudded some cirrus clouds. She wished she could do a sweep of her radar—cirrus clouds were great hiding places for enemy aircraft—but resisted the urge. Blake commanded herself to relax.

Another half hour passed. Lake Michigan was now behind her, and Michigan's Lower Peninsula appeared. A thin string of amber on the coast, scattered lights further inland, and then the lights disappeared. Suddenly all below was darkness. _The Michigan Dead Zone,_ Blake thought. The darkness seemed to close in; only a thin sliver of a crescent moon helped light the night.

Suddenly, ominously, the ground glittered ahead, and slid under _Gambol Shroud's_ nose. Through the TCS beneath the nose, Blake could see the ground, and knew where she was. The glittering was trinitite, where several nuclear devices had detonated at once, in close proximity, enough to fuse the ground into greenish glass—acres of it. Detroit had been a major target in the Third World War, as the center of the American auto industry. Had been. Around the trinitite were the twisted remains of the city, something Blake was glad she could not see.

"Bolo, Cricket." The voice, after an hour of silence, startled Blake. It was the voice of an E-3 AWACS orbiting on its usual track over central Indiana. "No threats to the force. Time is 2213 hours local." Cricket went silent. The AWACS' powerful radar undoubtedly could pick up Bolo Flight, and might even be able to pick out Blake, if the operator was good enough. Yang did not reply to Cricket, just in case Torchwick or someone else was listening to Cricket's transmissions.

"No threats," Blake said aloud, mainly to hear something besides the faint roar of her engines and the breathing in her oxygen mask. Torchwick had not taken the bait, or was going to cut it awfully close. If the Lufthansa flight was on time, it would be just east of Toronto by now. _Well, that's okay,_ she thought. _Torchwick can wait._

Blake looked up from a scan of her instrument panel, and noticed the moonlight fade and then disappear. Ahead was darkness, then a lightning bolt lit up the cloud. _The storm. Here we go._

Sure enough, Yang's voice sounded in her ears. "Bolo, your signal is Glimmer. Repeat, Glimmer." That meant that Operation Starlight was a go. A quick check of her navigation, and Blake dumped both external fuel tanks into Lake Erie; they were almost empty in any case. She pushed up the throttle slightly—enough that the Tomcat's wings cycled backwards—and entered the storm.

Instantly, the F-14 was bounced around as the winds at the leading edge of the thunderstorm hit it head on. The stick was nearly ripped out of Blake's gloved hands and she fought the storm as if it was a living thing. The cockpit was suddenly lit as if it was noon by lightning, then plunged into darkness again; the visor on her helmet protected her from the worst of the flash effects. The altimeter rose up and down as turbulence battered _Gambol Shroud; _the view ahead was turned into a prism as rain lashed the Tomcat's windscreen.

_Okay,_ Blake thought as another lightning bolt lit everything up, _here comes the tough part._ Now she had to trust her instruments. _Don't look outside, there's nothing there. Nothing there but clouds, rain, lightning and death. Watch your instruments, trust your instincts._ Slowly, she began a right turn and descent. Now the Tomcat was broadside to the wind, and the storm seemed to be angry at that fact: it lashed out and tried to push _Gambol Shroud_ into a flat spin. Blake held on, one hand on the stick, one on the throttle, both feet on the rudder pedals, all four limbs constantly moving. Her breathing and heart rate quickened, but only as much as it would be if she was jogging. Blake Belladonna was nothing if not a professional. _Besides,_ she thought with a grim smile as another gust of wind tried to push her higher into the storm, _this isn't nearly as bad as landing on a carrier at night._ The buffeting slackened just a little as she completed her turn and reached eight thousand feet. Lightning spun a spiderweb of energy above the canopy.

Without warning, her airspeed dropped. The Tomcat heaved and seemed to hesitate. _Oh God,_ Blake thought, and now her heart did begin to hammer. _Wind shear!_ She slammed the throttle forward as a downward burst of wind punched _Gambol Shroud_ downwards like a fist. The nose rose towards the sky, and with a hissing growl, Blake pushed the throttle into afterburner. The altimeter spun crazily around as the Tomcat hovered on the edge of the stall, the engines howling audibly as Blake fought to get every pound of thrust out of them. She fought to get the nose down.

For a few seconds that felt like hours, Blake fought the storm, pitting her reflexes against nature itself. Finally, the nose dropped, the airspeed rose, and the altimeter slowed, then stopped. As if someone drew back a curtain, the Tomcat flew out of the storm. Rain and wind still buffeted the aircraft, but she was out of the shear. She came out of afterburner, did a quick check ahead, and saw she was, amazingly, on course. The ruins of Cleveland were ahead, and the shoreline of Lake Erie pointed like an arrow to the Lakefront Airport. She reached out and touched a button. Beneath the F-14, the TARPS pod clicked on and began taking pictures. Blake dropped lower and began her run.

There was no ground fire, but Blake had not really expected any. Torchwick's hideout depended on being hidden. She wondered if there was a radar anywhere—and then her radar warning receiver beeped for her attention.

There were two radars looking at her, from directly ahead. _Screw it, they know I'm here by now,_ Blake thought, and switched on her radar. One sweep showed two radar signatures, and locked onto both of them. Blake pulled the trigger twice. Two AMRAAMs dropped from the forward missile wells and shot forward like tiny comets. She looked away to keep from ruining her night vision, then the airport was beneath her. The runway looked clear enough, if dilapidated, and… "Holy shit!" Blake yelled.

Below her was a row of MiG-21s. There had to be a dozen of them, and each one was marked with the snarling wolf's head of the White Fang. Then she was past, down the runway in a classic windows-rattling, buzz-the-tower pass, wings raked back. There was the briefest glimpse of a Sea Harrier—on the ground, looking like it had seen better days—but it wasn't Torchwick's. This one was the same overall white color as his, but it looked to have stripes on the wings. Then it was past.

Blake checked her radar, but there was nothing ahead. _That's weird, where's the other—_

Then her RWR went off.

* * *

Roman Torchwick was enraged, and damned Sienna Khan to every one of the nine thousand Chinese hells.

He knew about the DUST shipment on Lufthansa Flight 1414, but had no intention of going after it; Torchwick knew that the USAF would be on high alert now. He was more than happy to take the night off, and use the opportunity of the storm front to assemble the replacement MiGs where neither USAF radar nor USC satellites could see them. There were only a dozen new MiG-21s, well short of what they needed to replace the losses of the night before last, but it was better than nothing, and he still had his own gang to draw on.

He did not have radar, but what Torchwick did have was a very efficient ground-based early warning system, made up of people he paid regularly and well to report any strange aircraft in his area. It was rare, since most commercial flights were known, and military flights tended to avoid the Ohio Dead Zone—there was nothing there. Tonight, however, one of his people in a fishing trawler on Lake Erie reported seeing something fly over. More out of boredom and a burning desire to get the hell away from Sienna Khan for awhile, Torchwick and Neo Politan had taken off in their Sea Harriers to investigate.

That was when two AMRAAMs had flashed out of the storm front straight at them.

With a terrible oath, Torchwick had once more dived towards the surface of Lake Erie, using the crenellated surface of the wind-tossed lake to confuse the missile's radar seeker. That AMRAAM had dived into the lake and exploded. Neo was lower and simply did not have the time or the altitude to evade, so she desperately pulled back on the throttle and let her Harrier drop like a rock. It saved her life, as the missile spun past her canopy, but now the Sea Harrier was crumpled on the runway.

Torchwick saw red. Luckily he had ordered his aircraft fully loaded with missiles; the Gang was still short of AMRAAMs, so he only had one. He fired it anyway at the speeding Tomcat.

* * *

Blake cursed and slammed the stick into her right knee, at the same time dropping chaff behind her. The tactic worked; the missile—which never had a solid lock on the _Gambol Shroud_ to begin with—enthusiastically chased the chaff cloud. But it forced her to slow down, and a quick glance to the four o'clock position saw a very angry looking Sea Harrier headed for her. Blake cheated the turn tighter, a near scream escaping her lips as the G-suit clamped down on her middle, forcing blood into her brain. Blackness appeared at the edge of her vision for a moment, but then faded as she met Torchwick head on.

* * *

"Head to head, little cat?" Torchwick growled. Even in the dim light of the moon, there was no question in his mind who he was facing. He switched to guns, but the Tomcat was past in a second, so close that for a split second, his green eyes met her yellow ones. The Sea Harrier bounced around in the F-14's jetwash, but Torchwick was already climbing, already straining his neck to keep the Tomcat in sight.

* * *

Blake gritted her teeth. Every instinct—fighter pilot and predator Faunus—screamed at her to stay and fight Torchwick, and blow the thief out of the sky. She fought them off: the mission was to get the pictures back to Beacon. With a few choice curses, she made the decision to break off the fight—if Torchwick would let her. She knew the enemy always got a vote, and the Harrier was rolling at the top of a climb, the nose pulling down as he tried to drop down behind her. Blake reversed her turn and headed back due west.

_Position report, _she told herself. "Cricket, Cricket! This is Ruby Three!"

"Ruby Three, Cricket." The voice of the AWACS controller was calm. The crew of Cricket had been warned that there might be radio calls from Bolo or Ruby flights this night.

"Cricket, I am engaged with a single pirate Sea Harrier just north of Cleveland!"

"Roger, Ruby Three. Set course one-seven-zero; help's on the way."

"Roger!"

* * *

Torchwick was not to be dissuaded that easily. He leveled out behind and to Blake's right, and fired his cannon. Blake dodged right, once more slowing her down. Torchwick ended up on her left, reversed his turn as she reversed hers. The two aircraft missed each other by feet, and once more his firing solution was ruined.

The two ended up in a horizontal scissor, each turning into each other as each tried to force the other in front. Blake would edge ahead, gaining a mile of distance, then be forced to turn back as Torchwick tried to drop behind her. Each time, however, she lost more airspeed. The Tomcat's wings cranked forward, and Blake knew it was only a matter of time before Torchwick had her. She chanced more airspeed—the Harrier would always win a low-speed knife fight. Torchwick ended up behind her, but now she had some separation. She kept jinking, rolling, occasionally dropping a flare. Torchwick could not lock on, but she could not break free of the fight.

"Goddammit," Torchwick snarled. "This cat is good."

"Shit," Blake hissed. "This bastard is good."

Torchwick closed the distance as Blake dropped low over the lake, using the thief's tactic against him. His fingers switched to missiles, then switched back to guns, and he put the pipper of the gunsight over the broad spine of the Tomcat.

"Yang, Fox Two!"

Torchwick's RWR screamed for his attention. He kicked the tail around—the Sea Harrier's vision to the rear was not the greatest—and to his horror, he saw a yellow-nosed F-15 surge out of the darkness. That was marginally less of a problem than the two Sidewinders headed in his direction.

The thief was good. Despite having only a split-second to react, he managed to evade the first Sidewinder with a hard right break, then the second in a hard climb. As the airspeed bled off, however, Torchwick rolled his eyes. He knew without looking that the Sea Harrier was a nice, spreadeagled target for the F-15.

He was right. With a laugh, Yang pulled the trigger. The M61 Vulcan marched twenty millimeter shells across the Harrier's back and right wing. Flames erupted from ruptured fuel tanks and the engine died with a shudder. Torchwick gave Yang the finger as the F-15 flew past, and ejected.

* * *

"Hey, hey! Yang, splash one!" Yang did a quick circle as Harrier slid backwards and disappeared into Lake Erie. She saw a parachute blossom, and a boat heading towards the drifting figure under the 'chute. Yang briefly considered strafing the boat, but then decided that wasn't really that sporting, even for an air pirate, and turned back to catch up with Blake. "You're clear, Blake!"

"Thanks, Yang." Blake throttled back and checked her fuel. It was low, but she should be able to make Beacon. Both the F-14 and F-15 climbed away from Cleveland and the approaching storm.

"Weiss, Fox Two." Both Blake and Yang turned their heads to look north. There was the tiniest dot of flame, almost like a falling star, then it disappeared. "Weiss, splash one."

"Weiss, Yang, what's going on?"

"Air pirates, out of the storm—" Her voice rose an octave. "Neptune, break right! You've got one behind you!"

A pause of a second. "Ah, shit!" Neptune's voice was more angry than scared. "I'm hit."

"Neptune, Neptune!" Sun shrilled. "Get out of it! Get out of it! You're on fire! You're on fire!"

"Negative." Neptune sounded bored. "Let me just…"

Yang looked from Blake to the north. She had plenty of fuel. "Blake—"

"Go! I'm fine!" Blake watched the F-15 peel away and disappear into the darkness, then reappear when Yang lit her afterburners.

Sun was screaming at Neptune to bail out. There was no answer for a few seconds, and Blake wondered if the Navy aviator with the handsome smile was dead. Then Neptune's voice came on. "Okay," he puffed out. "Okay. Fire's out. Whew! Had to dive there. Okay, let's see…one engine out, got some stab damage here. Where's the bandits?"

"Gone," Weiss reported. "Lufthansa's okay. He's diverting to Sawyer. Can you make it to Beacon, Neptune?"

"That's a big negative, Weiss," Neptune said. "I can make Fort Wayne."

Blake stared to the north, but could not see anything; even Yang had disappeared again. It was like listening to a football game on the radio.

Yang took command. "Okay, Neptune, divert to Fort Wayne. Sun, you stay with him. Weiss, you and me escort Lufthansa to Sawyer. Cricket, you listening?"

"Roger that, Yang." The AWACS controller had remained silent. Once the dogfight started, there was little they could do. "Had your bandit on scope. He was heading southeast when I lost him. We've scrambled the alert five at Niagara Falls, but they're not going to find him in the storm."

"Roger. Could you scramble Beacon and make sure Blake RTBs okay?"

"Can do, Yang." The controller dropped off the net.

Blake relaxed a fraction. She was now over the Michigan Dead Zone again, but this time, she kept looking around, head on a swivel, in case Torchwick's gang managed to get something else in the air. Every second made that less likely, and once the Beacon alert five reached her—it was Scarlet, Velvet and Coco tonight, Blake remembered—she would be safe as she was ever going to be. _Oh, Coffee Flight's going to be pissed again,_ she giggled to herself. _Always a day late and a dollar short._


	30. Run For Your Life

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A short chapter this time, but one that's pretty important. Two "new" (but RWBY canon) characters arrive. One's actually been here for a few chapters..._

_Blake's comment about night carrier landings being the scariest thing a naval aviator can go through is pretty spot-on. During Vietnam, the Navy wired up EKGs to pilots flying combat. Even during the flak and SAMs, pilot heart rates did not get as high as they did during a night carrier landing._

_Naturally, it's big time OOC for Neo to talk. However, she'd be a really bad fighter pilot if she couldn't talk, so in this story, she just doesn't talk very much (and most of what comes out of her mouth is filthy). _

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_23 April 2001_

Blake landed without further incident, escorted in by a fuming Coffee Flight. She taxied _Gambol Shroud_ into its hardstand, shut down the engines, and raised the canopy. Cool, crisp night air rolled over her, drying the sweat underneath her flight suit. "That feels good," she remarked to no one in particular.

"Need some help, ma'am?" her plane captain called from below.

"No, I'm good." Blake did a quick gut check, as her father called it. She raised both hands to eye level. Both were steady. _Not bad,_ she thought, _considering I was about two seconds away from my parents getting that phone call from the chaplain. _She chuckled as she unstrapped and pinned the ejection seat, so it would not accidentally fire on the ground. _Still not as scary as night carrier landings. That time on the _Sara…_damn. I'd face a thousand Torchwicks before I'd do that again._

Blake climbed down and took off her helmet; her bow sprang into place like a jack-in-the-box. Beneath it, her ears hurt from being crammed under a helmet, but it was a price she was willing to pay. Already, other enlisted men were beneath the Tomcat, even as the engines ticked as they cooled, unloading the film packs from the TARPS pod. She heard footsteps, and turned. Only Faunus reflexes saved her from being tackled to the ground by the red storm better known as Ruby Rose.

"Hi there," Blake said.

"Hey yourself!" Ruby stood on tiptoe to ruffle Blake's hair, coming dangerously close to dislodging the bow. "You okay?"

"Yep." She looked to the plane captain for confirmation; the chief threw her a thumbs' up. "Not even a scratch this time. Thanks to your sister—she shot Roman Torchwick off my butt."

"I heard Yang got a kill, but she got _Torchwick?"_ Ruby literally jumped for joy. "Hot damn! This calls for a celebration when she gets back!" Ruby calmed herself. "A nice, subdued celebration. No drinking."

"Maybe just one drink." Blake felt pretty good, now. Torchwick was down—probably not dead, as she had seen the parachute as well, but still out for awhile. The pirates had made an end-around attack on the DUST shipment, but failed. She'd gotten the pictures, hopefully, and gotten home. _And who knows?_ Blake thought. _Maybe they'll count that crashed Sea Harrier at the airport as a maneuvering kill. That would make me an ace. Wait…I got four the other day, plus that GRIMM I got over the Twin Cities with Yang on Hop One…holy shit, I'm _already_ an ace!_ Blake Belladonna found herself very much warming to the thought. Her mother was a triple ace.

"You're grinning like the proverbial Chesire cat." Ruby was grinning too. She had done the math as well. "Just now realizing it? Me too."

"Maybe two drinks."

Ruby helped Blake postflight the aircraft. As Blake disappeared underneath an intake to check to make sure the drop tanks had separated cleanly, Ruby leaned against the landing gear. "Weissy got a kill too. That's her first! Winter's going to be proud of her."

"She should be. Weiss deserves that." Blake leaned out. "Did Sun and Neptune make it?"

"Oh yeah. They're okay. Weirdest thing, though…"

"What's that?"

"Neptune said he got jumped by something flying backwards. Then he realized it was something with forward-swept wings. I mean, we messed around with that in the 80s with the X-29, and I understand the Iranians have been messing around with modded F-5s with forward-swept wings, but I've never heard of one over here. Whoever it was, he stitched Neptune pretty good. If it hadn't been for Weiss locking the bandit up, Neptune would be one dead naval aviator…" Ruby's voice trailed off at seeing Blake's face. The Faunus had gone pale as a sheet. "Blake?"

"Oh God, no." Blake fell to a sitting position. Tears appeared at the edge of her eyes. "Oh God, no."

_Not him. Not here._

* * *

_Cleveland Lakefront Airport_

_Ruins of Cleveland, Ohio Dead Zone_

_23 April 2001_

Torchwick climbed off the boat, shivering. The storm was on them now; even if he hadn't taken a nonscheduled dip in Lake Erie, the rain would soak him to the bone anyway. A man in overalls—one of Torchwick's gang members—ran up to him, but Torchwick stripped off his helmet and tossed it into the man's arms. The rain now soaked his hair, but he didn't care. He reached into his flight suit, found a cigar that was miraculously intact, and stuck it in his mouth. There was no way to light it in the rain, but the taste of tobacco was something, at least.

Neo Politan waited under an umbrella. There was a bandage on her foot. She limped to him and hugged Torchwick. "Are you all right?" She nodded and threw him a tired thumbs-up. "How's your Harrier?"

"Fucked," she answered.

Torchwick sighed around the cigar. Two Sea Harriers gone. Someone was going to pay. "Where's Sienna Khan?"

"Fuck her!" Neo snarled.

"I'd rather not." Torchwick helped Neo limp towards the entrance to the underground hangars. The MiGs were being moved back underground, and Torchwick noticed among them was a curious looking aircraft with forward swept wings, painted red with black White Fang emblems on its twin tails. It looked like a F-5, except it wasn't, or at least most of it wasn't, with a single engine and bubble canopy…plus the strange looking wings. "Who does that belong to?" Neo shrugged. Torchwick was too tired to argue. Neo Politan embodied the word laconic. It wasn't that she could not talk, it was just that she would not, no more than necessary.

They entered the hangar. Sienna Khan, who Torchwick had to admit looked rather fetching in the kimono she wore to bed-for a Faunus, anyway-was waiting impatiently. "There you are! Where the hell have you been?"

Torchwick spit the cigar onto the floor. "Learning to swim."

"I blame you for this," she snapped. "Follow me." She turned her back on them, stomping away. Neo turned to Torchwick, made a throat-cutting motion, then nodded in Sienna's direction. Torchwick shook his head. Neo would murder Sienna in a heartbeat, but so many White Fang around, it would be impossible to kill Sienna and escape. Not that Torchwick did not strongly consider it.

Sienna stopped before one of the newly assembled MiGs. "I blame you for this," she repeated. "Now the Americans know where we are. That F-14 undoubtedly had a camera pod on it—"

"It did," Torchwick said in a tired voice. "I saw it."

"Well, that's just perfect, you idiot!" Sienna shrilled. "Once they develop that film, they'll hit us like a ton of bricks!" She slammed a hand against the side of the MiG. "I should've scrambled Ilia in our last F-5 and hunted that Tomcat down!"

"And gotten her killed!" Torchwick shouted at her. "My God, woman! I got shot down by a F-15! The boat crew said that you lost _another_ MiG trying to attack the transport—which was plain stupid, by the way. There was more up there than that F-14. And you call _me_ an idiot!"

"Yes!" Sienna put a clawed finger in Torchwick's face. "Because if you had air defenses worth a crap, you could've shot down that Tomcat before it even had a chance—"

"Oh sure!" Torchwick laughed. "And if I had a death ray, I'd be the ruler of Ohio!"

Sienna took a step forward. So did Neo, murder in her eyes. The two women stopped when a second man walked to them, hands raised. "Please, ladies and gentlemen. Shall we calm down and work on moving these aircraft to a new safe area? I assume you have one, Mr. Torchwick."

"I do. And it's no trouble getting there—which was what I was going to tell the illustrious High Leader here, _if_ she would pause long enough for me to tell her." Torchwick fished for another cigar, a dry one.

The newcomer handed him one. Torchwick took him in. He wore a jet black flight suit, with red stripes embroidered on the sides. He was tall, with a shock of red hair, but a white mask covered his eyes. Slits were cut into the mask. "Thanks," Torchwick said. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"I was the one who you just called plain stupid." The redhead gave him a winning smile and stuck out a hand. "I'm Adam Taurus."


	31. Love and Loss

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little background given in this chapter._

_Desert One was the codename for the landing site during Operation Eagle Claw, the failed attempt to rescue American hostages in Iran in 1980. Apparently the revolution there happened in this world as well, and Eagle Claw was a similar disaster. (Interestingly enough, the debacle at Desert One also inspired the story behind Snake-Eyes of GI Joe.)  
_

* * *

_Building 71414 (Commander's Office, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_23 April 2001_

"God _dammit,_ Ozpin!" James Ironwood shouted. His fist hit Ozpin's desk with enough force to crack the veneer.

Ozpin's face was placid, which angered Ironwood even further. "Why are you so angry, James?"

"Because you were told not to worry about the Torchwick Gang, and then you turn around and launch a raid on them!"

Glynda Goodwitch stood behind Ozpin, fighting unsuccessfully to keep a smirk off her face. "A reconnaissance mission is hardly a raid, General." Her eyes met Winter Schnee's, who stood behind and to Ironwood's right side—exactly the same spot Goodwitch stood in with Ozpin. Winter's expression reflected her name well, Goodwitch thought.

Ironwood glared at her. "A reconnaissance mission that was unnecessary. Hell, the whole damn thing was unnecessary."

"You might add that we successfully stopped another hijacking," Goodwitch replied, rubbing salt in the wound.

Ozpin stepped in before Ironwood went into apoplexy. "James, please. Sit down. You as well, Colonel Schnee." Ironwood stood enraged for a moment, then slowly lowered himself into a chair. Winter remained defiantly standing. Once the general was seated, Ozpin continued. "You told me in this very office the day before yesterday that you would like to flatten the Torchwick Gang's hideout, but didn't have confirmation that they were in Cleveland, and that the CIA was worried we'd kill their informant. I have provided the former and avoided the latter."

"Captain Ozpin, with respect," Winter spoke, "it is the opinion of General Ironwood's staff that the reconnaissance mission last night has made things worse. Another reconnaissance mission run this morning found nothing."

Ironwood nodded. "Torchwick's gone to ground."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "James, the photographs taken by Lieutenant Belladonna show that they had the better part of a squadron at Cleveland Lakefront. You don't just move a squadron of aircraft somewhere without someone knowing, and the Ohio Dead Zone is only so large. The next time Torchwick sticks his head out, we'll slice it off." He paused, and his smile faded. "That _is_ what you want, is it not, James?"

"Of course it is." Ironwood leaned back in the chair. He glanced around the room. "Ladies, may I have a few moments alone with Captain Ozpin?"

"Certainly." Goodwitch sauntered out with a last triumphant grin at Ironwood, followed stiffly by Winter, who shut the door behind her.

Ironwood massaged his greying temples. "Oz, listen. Okay, what you did last night was _mostly_ good. That's not what I'm pissed about. I'm pissed because you didn't tell me you were doing it." He faced Ozpin. "Jesus, Ozpin. I'm your friend. Either you don't trust me, or you miss being a professional spy that much."

Ozpin shook his head. "I don't miss being a spy at all, James. Being a spy cost me everything. As well as several million other people."

"You're being too hard on yourself. You didn't launch those missiles, Ozpin."

Ozpin shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter now. What _does_ matter is that it doesn't happen again. And that's what I'm trying to prevent."

"And that's what _I_ am trying to prevent too, Ozpin!" Ironwood shouted in exasperation. "We're on the same side!"

"Are we?" Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "The James Ironwood I knew always did the right thing. No matter the cost. You went back into a burning helicopter at Desert One and carried two men out, despite the fact that you got third-degree burns over half your body in the process. Because it was the right thing to do." Ozpin's finger hit the desk, though with less power than Ironwood's fist. "And _this_ was the right thing to do. Despite whatever President Shawcross wants, despite whatever the CIA wants. You say you argued with the President and General Luna about this, and then turn around and tell me I don't have to like something, but I have to do it because it's my duty as an officer and a gentleman. But what about when there's a higher calling, James?"

"Such as?"

"Such as the survival of the human race. She's still out there, James."

Ironwood closed his eyes. "You can say her name, Ozpin."

"I won't. I'll use her codename, and that is all." Another shrug. "Whether I call her by her real name or Salem, she is out there, and she still wants to finish what the Third World War started. And I don't give a rat's ass about what politicians want. I want to stop her."

Ironwood looked tiredly at Ozpin. "Fine. I agree with that, at least. What's your next move?"

"Right now, our old friend Rissa Arashikaze is on the phone with the President's national security advisor and possibly one or two members of the House Committee on Intelligence. She's saying that she had no idea the Torchwick Gang was holed up in the supposedly irradiated remains of Cleveland, Ohio, but that she will send in a team to investigate by midnight tonight. That team will find an empty nest. My counterparts at Grissom and Signal will be ordered to start running reconnaissance missions over Ohio. Torchwick, if he has any sense—and he's not stupid—will dig a very deep hole and pull the dirt over on top of him for awhile."

"Did you talk to Arashikaze this morning?" Ironwood, despite himself, chuckled. "That old salty bitch. I should've known you'd get her involved."

"This is as far as her involvement goes. And no, I haven't talked to her, but I know how the process works, James." Ozpin got to his feet, hobbled over to the sideboard, and poured a cup of coffee. He offered one to Ironwood, who refused. He then leaned against the sideboard and took a sip. "So we no longer have to worry about the Torchwick Gang at our rear, and can concentrate fully on the barrier. If you're right and Salem is about to unleash a new GRIMM offensive on us from the west, we can stop her there. If I'm right and she's going to try something less overt, then at least we don't have to worry about having Torchwick nipping at our heels."

Ironwood gave him a wry smile. "You really do have all this figured out, don't you?"

Ozpin gazed into his coffee cup. In his mind's eye, he saw Salem as she once had been. "If I did," he said softly, "we wouldn't be in this situation." Then he straightened up. "My next move, as it were, is to find out _why_ the White Fang went to being a strictly ground threat to suddenly adding an air component—and why they're suddenly working with humans."

"You don't have to do that, Ozpin. We _do_ have the CIA for that."

"I also have several pilots on this base who are determined to look into this matter no matter what we or the CIA think."

"You're referring to Belladonna and Ruby Flight." He thumbed back towards the door. "Winter's sister is involved, and her father will _not_ be pleased about that."

Ozpin smiled. "Is that a feature or a bug?"

Ironwood smiled back. "A feature, as far as I'm concerned." He got up. "All right, Ozpin. Against all common sense, I'm going to go along with this. But keep me in the loop, or so help me God, I will burn your ass. When I'm done with you, Salem will be the only one left on the planet who will take you in." Ironwood saw Ozpin's knuckles turn white around his coffee mug. "Sorry," the general apologized. "I went too far on that." He put a hand on Ozpin's shoulder. "We all do silly shit for love, Oz. Quit beating yourself up over it. And for God's sake, stop trying to compensate for a past that's long gone."

Ironwood left, leaving Ozpin alone in his office. He walked over to his desk and sat down. He then opened a drawer and withdrew a yellowed envelope from beneath a group of files. In it was a photograph of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. The photo was dogeared and cracked, but it was the only one he had.

Unseen by anyone, Ozpin began to cry bitterly.

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_23 April 2001_

Jaune Arc walked down the flightline as the sun set over it in a spectacular show of orange and red. Despite himself, it reminded him of Pyrrha Nikos.

Tonight would be the first night they had trained together since the Lake Michigan Massacre, and Jaune was looking forward to it. Even though they really had only been doing these unofficial training missions for less than two weeks, Jaune felt more confident in his flying. Pyrrha had beaten him soundly in the practice intercepts they had done, but after each sortie, they sat in the cafeteria or in Jaune's dorm room, going over the mission. Pyrrha was incredibly patient, pointing out his mistakes and what he could do to change them. The proof that he was learning—and the proof that he had talent, after all—was in the two kill marks now painted under _Crocea Mors'_ cockpit. While Jaune himself did not think it was all that, considering how easy the dogfight had been, there were a lot of other fighter noses at Beacon that did _not_ have kill marks on them.

And much to Jaune's consternation, one of them belonged to the man walking towards him.

Cardinal Flight hadn't been as lucky as Juniper or Ruby Flights. While they flew combat air patrols the same as everyone else, they were assigned to the Mississippi River Barrier, where there had not even been a stray GRIMM or two. It rankled on the pilots of Cardinal—and other flights as well, such as Coffee Flight—but the grumbling was generally good natured and directed at Ruby Flight for attracting trouble, though there were some mumbled derision about the four girls being "Ozpin's pets."

Cardin Winchester drew even with Jaune. The two had avoided each other for the most part since their practice dogfight and the confrontation in the cafeteria. "Hey, Jauney."

Jaune decided to not let it get under his skin. "Hey, Cardin," he replied.

"Where are you off to? Coffee's got the night CAP, along with that new bunch that just showed up—Creamer." Before Jaune could reply, Cardin continued. "Oh, that's right. Going to do some night flying with your girl." He clasped his hands in front of him and fluttered his eyelids. "Oh, how romantic! A moonlight flight with your girlfriend!"

Jaune forced a chuckle. "It's not like that."

Cardin laughed and nudged Jaune with his elbow. "Ah, come on, Jauney! You can tell me." He dropped his voice. "Is night flying _all_ you two do?"

"What're you talking about?" Jaune knew _exactly_ what Cardin was talking about, but he played dumb—for Pyrrha's sake.

"She a natural redhead?" Cardin drew closer. "Carpet match the drapes, all that?"

"Cardin, c'mon man." Jaune brushed him off with a nervous laugh, but a hard hand gripped his shoulder.

"Oh no, Jauney boy," Cardin growled, suddenly threatening. "We're all guys here. Tell me. Does she suck di—"

Jaune shoved him away. "Knock it off, Cardin. It's not like that!"

Cardin, taken by surprise, stumbled and nearly fell; his helmet bag dropped to the ground with a thunk and a cracking sound. Cardin stared at the bag and then back at Jaune, murder in his eyes. "That better not have been my helmet getting damaged, Jauney."

"Just leave me alone." Jaune continued to walk, but Cardin grabbed him.

"You haven't answered my question, _Lieutenant,"_ Cardin snapped.

"And he said leave him alone, _Captain._" Both men turned at the new voice, and abruptly realized whose F-16 they were standing in front of. Pyrrha stood there, having come out from behind the aircraft, hands on hips. She deliberately brushed off both her shoulders, and the three stripes on both of them—the Hellenic Air Force's insignia for a major.

Cardin pulled back. He reached down, picked up his helmet bag, and gave Jaune a death glare. "Figures you got to have your girlfriend come to your rescue, you Froggy fuck."

"Captain Winchester!" Pyrrha snapped.

Cardin suddenly whirled, executed a parade-ground salute to Pyrrha, and began to walk off before she returned the salute. "One day she isn't going to be around to save your ass, Jauney." He stalked away to catch up with the rest of his flight.

"_Poutsa,_" Pyrrha hissed at Cardin's back. Jaune didn't speak Greek, but he knew enough to know that it was not a term of endearment. Then she faced him and blushed a little. "Sorry," she said softly.

"It's okay." Jaune cradled his helmet back under his arm; he had been holding it at chest level, just in case he had to hit Cardin across the face with it. If it came to a fight, he knew that Cardin outweighed him about two to one. "But he's right." Pyrrha blinked in confusion. "You're not always going to be around for me, Pyrrha. I have to fight my own fights."

"We're a team, Jaune. Like Ruby said, you fight with one of us, you scramble with all of us."

Jaune shook his head. "Pyrrha, it doesn't look good for a guy to be defended by his girl—er, I mean, _a_ girl."

The two stood there in silence for a few moments, separated by three feet and a great deal more awkwardness. The fact that Pyrrha Nikos was a very attractive woman had not escaped Jaune's attention, no matter his similar attraction to Weiss Schnee. The fact that Jaune Arc was a fairly handsome man had definitely not escaped Pyrrha's attention. Then there was the night of the party: no one on the base—for that matter, no one period, so far as Jaune knew—was aware of Pyrrha's guilt and shame. They had not said anything about it, even after leaving Ruby Flight's room after the game of Risk. It was between them now, unsaid but there, and now there was the slip of the tongue by Jaune.

_You're not my girl,_ Jaune wanted to say, to apologize for Cardin's crudity, hating himself for the idle curiousity if Pyrrha was indeed a natural redhead, because that meant he was as bad as Cardin for even thinking it. He had no possession of her, and to imply otherwise was insulting to both of them. But the words died on his lips on looking at her bright green eyes, and the sadness he saw in them. Pyrrha could not be his girl, Jaune thought, because there was no way a goddess like her could ever see anything in him. He was a project for her, nothing more—well, she was a friend, certainly, but that was all.

"We…we should probably get going," was what Jaune said instead. "If you still want to."

Jaune could not know that Pyrrha had been thinking along similar lines to him. _He doesn't want me,_ she thought sadly to herself. _Of course, fool…he wants Weiss. And why not? Weiss is younger than me, more attractive, rich…and doesn't drink herself into insensibility or throw up all over the toilet. And Weiss doesn't murder people in their parachutes._

"Ah…sure. Of course!" Pyrrha put brightness into her voice that fooled neither of them. "See you up there." She pasted a smile on her face and nodded at him.

Jaune smiled back with a smile that was just as fake. "Right." He walked towards his Mirage.

Pyrrha silently cursed herself some more and climbed into her F-16, not noticing the expressions on her ground crew's faces. The pilots' fake smiles hadn't fooled them either. The crew chief helped Pyrrha strap in, then climbed down the ladder and removed it as Pyrrha dropped the canopy. As she taxied out, she spotted Winchester's F-15 down the dispersal area. Despite herself, the rage welled up inside of her. She didn't know if she was channeling her frustration with herself and Jaune into hatred for Cardin, but she swore to herself on the spot.

One way or another, Cardin Winchester was going to pay.


	32. Follow You Down

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter gets a bit risque, but Yang's involved. She and Junior do have something of a history of it._

_Of the movies noted at the beginning, "The Great Waldo Pepper" and of course "Top Gun" are the only ones that exist (though I guess "The Huntsman" exists in the RWBY Chibi universe). And speaking of movies, Junior's second-to-last line in this story is the last line from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly."_

_I make no apologies for Junior's love for 1990s dance tunes. Remember the year this is set in...and Blake's little trick with the belt buckle? My dad watched a Marine friend of his clear out a bar in Long Beach with that tactic. _

* * *

_Junior's Dance Club and Bar_

_Madison, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_23 April 2001_

Not long after arriving at Beacon, Yang Xiao Long had her motorcycle shipped to the base with her belongings. Yang had grown up with such fighter pilot movies as _The Huntsman, The Great Waldo Pepper, Red Skies Over Poland, _and her favorite, _Top Gun._ Seeing Shaun Cruise speeding down a perimeter road, racing a F-14 taking off, had convinced Yang at an impressionable age that one day, she too would own badass sunglasses, a bomber jacket, and a motorcycle, in that order. Now she had all three, but it had been awhile since she had time to indulge herself.

"Well, this is it," she said over her shoulder as they pulled up in front of Junior's Club. It was a converted factory in the seedier section of Madison. Technically, it had been declared off-limits to military personnel, after several fistfights and near riots, but the Military Police rarely enforced the rule; most pilots, however, preferred the more upscale clubs near the University of Wisconsin, or the wildly themed ones at Wisconsin Dells. Yang had other reasons for liking it. Even from outside, across the street, she could feel the pulse of the bass of _James Brown is Dead._ Yang smiled, climbed off her bike, took off her helmet, and checked to make sure the trip down from Beacon hadn't damaged her precious _Bumblebee._ "You going to get off, Blake? We need to go and see my friend."

Blake Belladonna took a moment. Several moments, actually. The dogfight with Roman Torchwick rattled her a little. The news that Adam Taurus was probably on the same continent as her terrified her a lot. Driving with Yang was somewhere in between. Like most fighter pilots, Yang tended to think she was more anointed than pointed, and drove her motorcycle the same way she flew her F-15. There had been a few times that Blake was close enough to the side of an eighteen-wheeler that she could have touched the trailer without even stretching out her hand. With shaking hands, she took off her helmet. Yang, who didn't notice her friend's pale expression of terror, took the helmet and put both in the motorcycle's saddlebags. "Ready?" Blake nodded. "I'll warn you, this place can be a little rough…but the drinks are pretty good."

"I could definitely use a drink," Blake murmured as they crossed the street. Beneath her ribbon, her ears twitched involuntarily.

* * *

There was no line to get in; it was a Monday night. The two bouncers at the front door were both dressed in nicely-cut business suits, snap-brim hats about a century out of style, and red mirrored sunglasses. They looked bored as they noticed the two women walking across the street, then both took an involuntary step backwards. "It's her!" one of them shouted. Both fled into the club. The two pilots could hear them frantically trying to lock the door, but Yang drew back a foot and kicked the doors open, sending both bouncers stumbling backwards.

Yang stepped into the club like an empress, and found herself staring down the barrels of at least eight pistols and one shotgun. She smiled and raised her hands. The Vengaboys abruptly halted as the DJ went under his console.

"I see they know you here." Blake walked in behind her, hands behind her back.

The crowd of bouncers parted to reveal a pair of identical twins. Both brunettes, one was dressed in red and another in white, but in the same style of strapless dresses. They stared daggers at Yang. Blake turned to the blonde. "These your friends?"

"No," both twins said at the same time.

Yang grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of her head. "Yeaaah…remember that time last week or so ago when I came in with the black eye? Well…I was sort of in here and sort of got into a fight."

"She means she tore the place apart!" the girl in the red dress snapped.

"You guys attacked me first!" Yang insisted.

"After you grabbed Junior by the balls!" This from the girl in the white dress.

"He was getting too fresh with me." Yang folded her arms across her breasts, as if that finished the argument.

"You led him on!" Red Dress again.

Blake raised a hand. "Listen, please! We're just here to see Junior."

"Well, he's not here!" To Blake's surprise, it was Red Dress a second time. "It's a Monday night. Junior's got the night off."

Yang rolled her eyes. "He lives here…it's Miltia, right?" She addressed White Dress.

"_I'm_ Melanie, _she's_ Miltia," White Dress—Melanie—replied. She pointed at Blake. "Who's this? Your bottom bitch?" She obviously thought that was uproariously funny, and began to laugh. Miltia joined her, quickly followed by the bouncers.

Blake sighed. Among the Faunus, often, there was an alpha to a pack, and sometimes the alpha needed to remind people who was in charge. While Yang had been committing breaking and entering, Blake had quietly slipped off her belt and wrapped it around her right hand. Now Blake moved like a striking snake. Her right hand shot outwards and let the belt extend to almost its full length, with the solid buckle at the end. The effect was like a whip, and the buckle hit Miltia right between the eyes.

The white-dressed twin went down like she had been shot. Melanie turned in shock, only for Blake to spin the belt over her head and clock Melanie atop the skull; she joined her sister on the floor. Pistols were raised again, and Yang, who had thoughtfully concealed a nine millimeter at the small of her back, wondered if she would live long enough to grab it.

"_Stop!"_ The authoritative male voice shot across the room. "Stop!" The voice belonged to one of the biggest humans Blake had ever seen: he towered over them, nearly seven feet tall. Muscles bulged under the business suit he wore; he looked more like a professional wrestler than a nightclub owner. What was confusing was the look of fear on his face when he saw Yang. "Oh, hey, Blondie. You're here." The man's expression was pained. "Why? Didn't you do enough damage the last time you were here?" He saw the twins on the floor and the belt dangling from Blake's hand. "And you brought a friend! Oh, God…and I was just going over my insurance earlier…"

Blake turned to Yang. "What the hell did you _do_ the last time you were here?"

Yang laughed nervously. "Um…I didn't burn anything." She reconsidered. "I think." At Junior's sounds of apoplexy, she waved her hands. "Junior, please! Me and my friend just came in to talk and have some drinks. That's all. The twins here got nasty and…" Her voice trailed off. "My friend's a Marine," Yang finished, as if that explained everything.

Junior rubbed his eyes. "Okay, okay…fine. Come to the back." He paused. "Ah, is your friend 21?" Blake nodded. "Just checking. It's the law, you know." He motioned them over towards the bar as the guns were lowered. Yang pushed her way through the bouncers to follow Junior.

Blake stepped over the weakly stirring Miltia. "I'm the top bitch," she growled at the girl. "Marines don't bottom."

Miltia nodded painfully. "Thank you for your service."

* * *

Junior—whose full name was Junior Xiong; Blake didn't think he looked Chinese, but for that matter, neither did Yang—took both of them into the back rooms, behind the bar. "Ladies, can I get you a drink?" His demeanor was still nervous; Blake wondered just what kind of damage Yang had done to the place.

"Strawberry Sunrise," Yang answered.

"Just a Dr. Pepper." At Yang's raised eyebrow, Blake said, "The way tonight's going, I don't want to screw up my head."

Junior made both drinks as the two pilots sat on a long, red couch. Everything in the place was red or black. Then he made himself one as well, and sat on a similar couch across from them. "What can I do for you?"

Yang didn't mince words. "I'm guessing you have some contacts with organized crime."

Junior nearly choked on his drink. "Say what? Oh, no, ma'am, I don't—"

"Come on. Do you think I came in here randomly last time? You've got a rep, Junior: people who need something come to you."

Junior set his drink down. "I thought you were a fighter pilot, not a cop."

"We're both. OSI." Yang referred to the Office of Special Investigations, the USAF's investigative police force, the service's equivalent to the more famous NCIS of the Navy. She was also lying. Blake kept her expression blank.

Junior leaned back. "Shit," he said after awhile. "Maybe I need a lawyer."

"Nothing like that," Yang assured him. "You give us some info, we don't go to the cops. We also don't tear the place apart." Blake covered her eyes with a hand. "We keep things nice and quiet. Heck, I can probably get the off-limits restriction lifted on your place. I know the MPs don't really enforce that, but it can't hurt, right?"

Junior mulled it over. "Okay. That's fair. This isn't about—" he glanced at Blake "—the person you were looking for last time, is it?"

"Nope." Yang tossed back half of the Sunrise. "We're interested in the White Fang. As in how the hell they are able to consistently put up a squadron or two of fighters every time they go up."

Blake stepped in. "You heard about the attempted pirate raid on Milwaukee, right?" Junior nodded; that had been all over the news, though no names were mentioned, nor was the White Fang's involvement. "The White Fang were there, led by Roman Torchwick. Do you know who is providing the Fang pilots, aircraft, and the money to afford both?"

Junior got up from the couch, drink in hand. He sipped it as he thought for a moment. "I don't know about the money. But I do know about the aircraft, and a little about the pilots. But if you want me to cross the White Fang, I'm gonna need more than a promise you two aren't going to tear shit up and dropping a restrictrion that isn't enforced."

"Like what?"

Junior shrugged. "Money. And maybe a little…something…from you, Blondie."

To Blake's surprise, Yang did not even bat an eye. "Sure. What did you have in mind—for both?"

"For the money, let's say…a hundred grand. And for the other…" Junior smiled. "You use your imagination."

"This is bullshit." Both of them turned to Blake, who was purpling with rage. "We don't have that kind of money, and Yang, you're not seriously considering—"

Yang shrugged. "We need the info. I can take one for the team."

"But you can't do that!"

"Blake, I'm a grown woman." Yang turned back to Junior. "Let's say seventy-five thou, which we'll have to get you later in the week. As for me, after you give us the information."

"I can't believe you're doing this!" Blake exclaimed. "It's degrading!"

"Blake, don't make me repeat myself. Besides…" Yang uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. She was wearing bike pants that fit her like a second skin, and a T-shirt under her unzipped jacket that showed a great deal of cleavage. "…I admit I'm feeling a bit hungry tonight." She shot Junior a sultry look, much to Blake's nausea. The Faunus covered it by gulping down half her soda. "You gonna talk, Junior, or you going to keep staring?"

Junior shook his head free of the sight of Yang's assets. "Okay, deal." He poured himself another drink. "As far as the aircraft go, the Fang—and Torchwick—are getting them from buyers all over the world. Mostly China and India, but some here in the States, too. You can get F-5s pretty easy anywhere, and the MiGs come from the Chinese and Indians. _How_ they're getting here I don't know, but I do know that some of the other pirate gangs just bring them in on ships. Bribe a couple of port officials in Mexico or Canada, and ship them by rail to wherever they need to go. Or they fly them under the radar. You Air Force types can't cover everything, especially over the Dead Zones."

"By rail?" Blake asked, remembering the White Fang's train job in Germany. "How does that work? The rail network is watched!"

Junior gave her a pitying look. "Miss, do you know how much rail mileage there is in North America? How often it's inspected? How easy it is to bribe an inspector to look the other way? And that's just in the Remnant. In the Dead Zones, there aren't any inspectors at all."

"But the Dead Zones are overrun with GRIMM!"

"True," Junior admitted, "so they have to be careful. But the GRIMM aren't everywhere, and they have to worry about bad weather. Trains don't. Yeah, you have to worry about old bridges washing out or collapsing, or things like that, and you route around the radiation zones. But you'd be surprised how much rail traffic goes across the Dead Zones, and nobody notices. Hell, I know of a guy who smuggled 42 cars worth of illegal Chinese electronics from Vancouver to Denver. Straight past the hot zones at Seattle, over the Cascades and the Rockies. Made a bundle off that one."

"You speak from experience," Yang said. Junior just smiled. "Okay, so the Fang buys their aircraft overseas, ships them over to the Dead Zones, and hides them in there. I don't suppose you're going to tell me their hideouts."

Junior shook his head vehemently. "You're not paying me enough, Blondie. Even if I knew, and I don't, you're not paying me enough. I don't want the twins finding me behind the bar with my head ripped off and the White Fang emblem painted in my own damn blood." Yang glanced at Blake, who gave a short nod: she had seen it done, and worse. Neither Sienna Khan nor Adam Taurus were merciful towards informants or spies.

"How much would it cost to ship, say, a MiG-21 from China?" Blake asked.

Junior mentally did some figures. "About ten grand, give or take. The plane itself is about quarter of a mil, depending on what condition it's in." Blake did some figuring of her own. What she had seen at Cleveland, then, was roughly three million dollars worth of equipment. That didn't count missiles and fuel. The White Fang did not have that kind of money. When her parents were running the organization, and until the North Sea oil boom, it was all Ghira Belladonna could do to feed Menagerie, let alone buy weapons. Even after oil had been discovered, it went to supplying the nation. The White Fang were allowed to raise money in Menagerie, but given the organization's increasingly poor reputation, donations were not as large as they once were—and they certainly were not enough for Sienna Khan to have her own air force.  
"Mr. Xiong," she asked, "how much would a DUST module go for on the open market?"

Junior looked at her strangely, but once more gave it some thought. "Intact? Probably ten million."

"Would you…know anything about that?"

"Well, I don't know if that's part of the deal…" Yang took her jacket off and stretched. "Yeah, Torchwick's gang nabbed two of them. Already sold them off, though. Don't know who to." Yang pulled off her boots and wiggled her socks at Junior. He swallowed audibly. "I honestly don't, really!"

Blake fought the urge to walk out, and deck Junior on her way. And possibly Yang. _What's wrong with me?_ she asked herself. _Yang's right. She's a grown woman. If she wants to rut with this asshole, that's her business. _

It still pissed her off.

The numbers still weren't quite adding up, but Blake decided to move on before Yang started stripping off more clothes. "Okay, you said you knew something about the pilots." When Junior didn't answer, Blake cleared her throat. Junior tore his eyes away from a smirking Yang and back to Blake.

"Right, pilots." Junior finished off his second drink. "I don't know how the White Fang recruits for pilots, but I do know that they don't actually recruit from the gangs. The gangs are mostly human, and the Faunus that work for Torchwick or Neopolitan or the Skyblazers are in it for the money, not Sienna Khan's crusade. The gangs might given them a little training here and there, but it's not like Torchwick can take up a dozen Fangers and teach them how to fly without someone noticing."

"So where are they learning how to fly?" Yang took off her socks and wiggled her toes. Apparently Junior had a foot fetish, because it was all he could do to keep his eyes off of her. _She's enjoying this,_ Blake thought. She threw Yang a look to stop.

"Er…flight schools." Blake rolled her eyes, but Junior insisted. "No, really! Private flight schools all over the world."

"Seriously?"

"Sure. You walk in off the street, sign up, and they teach you how to fly. Simple as that. Of course, it costs money, but the Fang doesn't seem to have a problem with that these days."

"But flight schools can't teach you how to fly high-performance fighters."

Junior shrugged. "Hey, I said I only knew a little. But I guess the rest of it they could get over the Dead Zones somewhere. Hell, you could hide a whole air force in Russia, or for that matter, out West here." He poured himself another drink, visibly sweating. Yang licked her lips suggestively.

Blake had enough. That was about all Junior could probably tell her anyway, and at the rate they were going, Yang and the big man were going to go at it right in front of her. She swiftly drank the rest of the soda—her mouth was dry, drier than it should be—and stood up. "Well, Mr. Xiong, thank you. I'm sure we'll be getting back to you on your payment."

"My pleasure, Miss." Junior didn't even look at Blake.

"I'll be out in a bit, Blake." Yang stood up and began walking towards Junior.

"You…um…wait in the bar!" Junior yelled at Blake as the Faunus left. "Tell the bartender it's all on me!"

* * *

Blake fled the room before she threw up. She stalked out into the bar area. The twins spotted her, but they also saw the expression on her face and wisely gave her plenty of room. So did the bouncers. Blake was not sure if she was happy about that or not—she really wanted to kill something. Or at least maim the hell out of it.

She made it out of the bar, and took some deep breaths of the cool night air. Once she had calmed down some, she walked over to the motorcycle and sat down on it. One part of her wanted to just drive off and leave Yang, but that would be rather petty, not to mention the fact that Blake didn't know how to operate a motorcyle. Instead, she sulked and wondered why on earth she was even sulking about it. _Junior's a thug—saw plenty like him in the White Fang—but he's not bad looking. If Yang wants to bang him, so what? It's her decision. Sure, she's essentially screwing him for information, but if that gets us closer to bringing down the White Fang…no, it's not worth that,_ Blake thought angrily. _Not even Adam is worth that._ Then she cursed herself for thinking about Adam. One day, Blake promised herself, she was going to open that sealed box, but it wasn't going to be tonight. There wasn't enough liquor in Junior's bar for that.

To her surprise, she saw Yang walking out of the bar, fully clothed, a smile on her face. Blake knew she wasn't able to hide the disgust on hers. "That was fast," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Either you're that good or he's that bad."

"Oh, combination of both." Yang wiped her mouth, and to Blake's surprise, she saw blood. She bared her teeth in rage. "Did he hurt you?" the Faunus shouted. If he had, Blake was going to go back into the club and go scorched earth. She would do so much damage that a hundred years from now, the people of Madison, Wisconsin would _still_ talk about it.

Yang laughed. "Oh, hell no. It's not my blood." She retrieved their helmets and handed Blake hers. "We should probably get going. Junior's going to be upset, but he'll get his money."

* * *

After seeing Yang leave, Melanie and Miltia looked at each other in confusion. The Marine girl had been visibly upset, but Blondie looked self-satisfied. The twins walked into the back room.

Junior lay on the floor, doubled over. His pants and underwear were around his ankles, but his face was beet red and he was trying to force air in between clenched teeth. Both hands were over his genitals, cradling himself. Once more, Melanie and Miltia looked at each other.

"Don't just stand there," Junior gritted out with a gasp. "Get me some ice!" The twins ran to the bar. "She bit me! I can't believe she bit me!" Junior's voice raised to scream. "Blondie, you know what you are? You're a dirty son of a _bitch!"_ The twins helpfully put a bag of ice on his wound. He winced. "I hope she never finds her damn mother."


	33. Broken Wings

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Back in the air again, with a few Top Gun references because why not. Poor Pyrrha...I need to write some happy things for this girl, but this chapter isn't necessarily one of them._

* * *

_Building 92613 (Vytal Flag Threat and Exercise Briefing Room A)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Hop Seven," Glynda Goodwitch announced. All the flights were in attendance today: Ruby, Juniper, Coffee, Cardinal, Sun, and Creamer. "Today we move on into a more multidimensional threat: multiple threats, multiple bogies. As many of you know, when fighting GRIMM, you will usually be outnumbered—but this is also true of fighting human or Faunus opponents as well. Often as not, you will initially not be in a 1V1 situation, but a 3V1 or 4V1. If this is the case, you must learn how to deal with multiple opponents. Yes, Oberleutnant Schnee?"

Weiss stood in the semidarkness of the briefing room. "Colonel Goodwitch, if you are by yourself, isn't it wise to break off the fight? Better to retire and save the aircraft, rather than push a bad position?"

Goodwitch nodded. "I'm glad to see you've been paying attention in Wing Commander Port's class, Oberleutnant. Yes, it is best not to get into a fight where you face multiple opponents alone. However, the real world occasionally leaves you in such a situation. In fact, Captain Wukong and Lieutenant Belladonna found themselves in just such a situation a few days ago. And you may not be lucky enough to be fighting inexperienced, green pilots such as those fielded by the White Fang."

Goodwitch brought up the now familiar map of the Yooper Range over the Upper Michigan Peninsula. "Though we try to be as realistic as possible here at Vytal Flag, when you are facing human or Faunus opponents, most of the time you _will_ be facing second-rate pilots. Pirate bands are often the bottom of the barrel. As for terrorist groups like the White Fang, we are still assessing that threat, but—for now, at least—it seems to be much the same situation." She briefly met the eyes of Yang and Blake. Before the briefing that morning, she had read Blake's hastily typed up report. Blake had left out the spicier parts of the incident at Junior's Club, but what was there was bad enough.

"However," Goodwitch continued, "sometimes you will encounter skilled pirates, and there is always the possibility of third-force groups." By that she meant foreign countries. At the moment, no country in the world was openly at war with each other, but everyone in the room knew how fast that could change. "In any case, if you can beat your fellow pilots here at Beacon, then air pirates, White Fang, or even third-force elements should present less of a problem. That is also why you often face dissimilar aircraft, so you can learn the different types of aircraft and their strengths and weaknesses, aside from your own."

Another slide came up, showing the opposing forces for the hop.

_RED FORCE—Cardinal Flight_

_Winchester, Cardin (USAF)—F-15C Eagle_

_Thrush, Russel (USAF)—F-16C Viper_

_Bronzewing, Dove (USAF)—CF-18A Hornet_

_Lark, Sky (RMAF)—Hawk 200_

_BLUE FORCE—Juniper Flight_

_Nikos, Pyrrha (HAF)—F-16C Viper_

There were murmurs at that, a lot of them. Ruby leaned back in her seat and looked at Pyrrha behind her. "Who did you piss off?" Pyrrha said nothing, and simply stared straight ahead.

Goodwitch held a hand up for silence. "In this case, Major Nikos will demonstrate how—and if—a well-flown fighter can take on four equally well-flown fighters, and win. That is, of course, a rather large if. Cardinal Flight, meanwhile, will demonstrate how a flight uses mutual support to take on one aircraft. It is all too easy to get in each other's way up there. As we have learned in earlier hops, in the end, it is all 1V1. Here I must credit Captain Wukong with his brilliant survival against no less than eighteen opponents over Lake Michigan."

Sun, who sat behind Juniper Flight next to Neptune—and characteristically had his flight suit zipped down to his navel—merely shrugged. "Nothing to it." There were hoots and catcalls sent in his direction, but the Faunus simply basked in it. When everyone had returned their attention back to Goodwitch, Jaune turned back to Sun and whispered, "Gutsiest move I've ever seen, man." Sun winked at him.

"Are there any questions?" Goodwitch looked at Cardinal Flight, specifically Cardin. She half-expected some boast, but to her pleasant surprise, he seemed focused. Despite his braggart nature, Cardin was smart enough to realize that this mission would be nowhere near as easy as it looked. The rest of his flight wore similar expressions; Sky looked worried.

Pyrrha seemed placid, but Goodwitch noticed something in the Greek woman's green eyes, even across a darkened auditorium: Pyrrha Nikos was holding back pure rage.

"No questions, then? Very well. Juniper Flight, Major Nikos, man your planes. The rest of us will remain here."

"Pyrrha—" Jaune began, but she only replied, "See you in a little while," and left.

"What's with her?" Nora asked.

"I don't know," Jaune replied, "but I'm going to stop this. This is bullshit, her being chosen like this! Especially after what she's been through." Both Ren and Nora looked at him with questioning glances, but Jaune didn't elaborate. Crete was Pyrrha's to talk about. He got up and went to find Goodwitch.

Jaune found the colonel in the hallway—alone. She turned to him. "Yes, Lieutenant Arc?"

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

Goodwitch cocked her head to one side, curious. "Proceed."

"This is a stupid mission."

She chuckled. "Don't spare my feelings, Lieutenant; tell me how you feel. Very well—how is this a stupid mission? I thought I explained it well enough."

"Yes, ma'am. But Major Nikos—she's, well…" Jaune faced Goodwitch squarely. "Colonel, I don't think she's in the right mindset for this. Her history—"

"I am aware of the Crete Incident, Lieutenant."

"Then, speaking as the flight commander of Juniper Flight, Colonel, I have to protest you assigning her to this."

Goodwitch, to Jaune's surprise, put a hand on his shoulder. "Lieutenant, your devotion to your flight is commendable, but I thought she would have told you." The hand fell away as Goodwitch began to head back to the auditorium. "This entire mission was Major Nikos' idea."

* * *

_Yooper Training Range_

_Near Iron Mountain, Michigan, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

Cardin Winchester kept his head moving. The F-15 was designed for this very thing: its bubble canopy gave excellent vision everywhere but directly under him—and he was fairly certain that Pyrrha Nikos was not below him. He paid special attention to directly behind the twin tails of his fighter, but the sky was empty. Over to his right was Dove Bronzewing, in his CF-18, and over to the left and behind was Russel Thrush's F-16 and Sky Lark's Hawk, just within visual range.

Pyrrha had taken off first and disappeared. To at least make the fight somewhat even, Cardinal Flight was not permitted to switch on their radars until they reached the range area. Under normal circumstances, they would also have E-3 AWACS support, but that would also defeat the purpose of the mission. Cardin had spread Cardinal Flight out into two mutually supporting pairs. As soon as the range controller had announced "Fight's on," he and Russel had switched on their radars, becoming the "eyeballs" to Sky's and Dove's "shooters."

That had been five minutes ago.

Cardin stole another glance behind him. He knew Pyrrha was good, and he also suspected that the Greek girl was, quite frankly, pissed off. He wondered if he could rattle her cage a bit by radioing a challenge over the open radio channel; something about that moron Jaune should do it. His finger hovered over the mike button, but he pulled back at the last second. It could backfire on him, and unlike on the flightline, Goodwitch—and probably Ozpin—were listening.

"Russel to Cardin. Anything?"

"No joy," Cardin replied. He checked his RWR gear. It was picking up nothing.

"You don't think she bugged out?"

Cardin shook his head, though Russel couldn't see it. "Negative. She's out here somewhere." He looked around again. "These damn clouds. That bitch could be anywhere."

* * *

The sky over the forested hills of Michigan was indeed thickly covered in clouds, the leading edge of a storm coming in from Canada. The gray clouds were building into thunderheads, promising some rough afternoon weather over the Great Lakes. For Cardinal Flight, it was like flying through the halls of some heavenly cathedral.

Above and to the right, about seven miles back, Pyrrha stalked Cardinal Flight like a wolf hunting a herd of deer.

She kept her radar off. Cardinal had come it at 15,000 feet; Cardin evidently expected her to be hiding at low level, using the terrain of the hills to mask her F-16. Pyrrha had actually grabbed altitude as soon as she was out of visual range of Beacon, climbing to almost the aircraft's ceiling, where the tops of even the thunderheads were below her and the sky above her was such a dark blue it was nearly black. Her search for Cardinal Flight was entirely visual, trusting to her superb vision. Cardin was looking in the wrong place, and as a result, had flown several miles past and below her.

Now Pyrrha had to think in four dimensions: the normal three plus time. She rolled to her left and entered an almost lazy dive. If Cardinal Flight was to do a sudden turn to clear their tails, they would detect her almost instantly, but she knew Cardin had made a cardinal mistake: expecting the enemy to do what Cardin expected, not what she was capable of.

She flew through a squall line of clouds; rain streaked over her canopy for a moment, then she was through, directly behind the trailing section, Sky and Russel. She was in their blind spot, below and behind, where the fighters' tails would blank out the view. Gently, Pyrrha pushed the throttle forward, closing the distance as wisps of clouds drifted past. She mentally selected Sky's Hawk 200: it was the smallest and the hardest to see, and in the kind of dogfight that she planned, he needed to be eliminated first.

On one wing hardpoint of her F-16 was an orange instrumentation pod, transmitting data in real time back to Beacon; on the other was an inert Sidewinder. The seeker head was still active, however, and she used it to lock onto the Hawk's engine. The Sidewinder began to growl, and she got closer, to where the Sidewinder was snarling. She waited a half-second longer, then pulled the trigger.

Were this real, a missile would have leapt off one of the rails and impacted Sky's Hawk seconds later. Instead, pulling the trigger activated the F-16's gun camera, which would show her locked onto the Malaysian fighter. "Pyrrha, Fox Two on the Hawk."

The sudden radio call visibly startled Cardinal Flight; Pyrrha thought she could actually see it ripple through the flight. Sky threw his aircraft into a hard right break, but it was too late. "Roger," radioed Range Control, "Sky's a mort." Sky cursed loud and long, but he had just been killed in simulation, so he had to fly down to 10,000 feet and proceed home to Beacon in a straight line.

Pyrrha slammed the throttle forward to the stops, engaging the afterburner. The F-16 shot forward through Cardinal Flight, which had yet to recover from the "death" of Sky Lark. She came out of afterburner, slammed the stick into her left knee and stomped the left rudder pedal; the F-16 went into a murderous nine-G turn. Her G-suit squeezed hard to keep blood in her brain, but Pyrrha barely noticed: she was now a part of the F-16 as much as if she had been built into it. This was the Viper's element: the close-quarter turning fight which few other aircraft could match—_if_ Cardinal Flight fought by her rules.

As she came out of the turn, she saw that they were. Cardin and Dove had broken right, but Russel had broken left; the F-15 and the CF-18 were out of position. Out of the corner of one eye, Pyrrha could already see that Cardin and Dove were reversing their break to get back in the fight, but she had a few precious seconds to kill Russel Thrush.

Russel did his best. He turned into her, a half-second too late to keep her off his tail, but stayed in the turn, trying to drag her back into Cardin and Dove. Pyrrha eased back on the throttle and popped her speedbrakes a fraction, two butterfly wings opening on either side of the F-16's engine. That opened the distance, and one flick of the right thumb switched from heatseeking Sidewinders to radar-guided AMRAAMs—or would have, had this not been an exercise.

With a brief second of alarm, Pyrrha caught herself wishing it was real.

Lighting off her radar warned Russel that he was being tracked, and now his F-16 suddenly flicked over into a dive, trying to lose her in the clouds. A quick half-second glance told Pyrrha that Cardin and Dove were just about behind her. Her RWR shrilled for her attention, and showed two radar cones: the F-15 and CF-18 were tracking her as well. In the space of a single second, Pyrrha hauled back the stick, then once more slammed it left, then dived. The F-16 climbed, turned, and rolled into a high-speed yo-yo. The sudden maneuver broke Cardin's lock, but kept hers steady on Russel. "Pyrrha, Fox Three on the F-16."

A half-second. "Roger. Russel is a mort."

No time to waste, she mused. Cardin, with admirable speed, was back on her tail, radar searching for her.

Pyrrha had to dive, to convert speed to energy; if she climbed, Cardin would get an easy kill. The clouds swallowed her, and she turned the dive into a tight corkscrew. Her left hand stabbed a button on the throttle, dropping chaff and flares in her wake. She waited another half-second, then made a hard right break. She came out of the clouds, and smiled beneath the oxygen mask: Cardin and Dove had done exactly what she anticipated. She knew that they would not follow her into the clouds—too much chance of a simulated ambush, or worse, a real midair collision—and now she had appeared at Dove's three o'clock as they waited for her to pop out of the clouds at the Canadian's nine o'clock, where she had dropped the flares. Dove spotted her and immediately broke into her, but Pyrrha struck first. "Pyrrha, Fox Three on the Hornet."

Dove had been a millisecond too late in his break. "Roger," Range Control said, a note of amazement in the controller's voice. "Dove is a mort." The CF-18 leveled out and flew past Pyrrha; Dove threw her a salute as he went by her.

Cardin was the last one left, and he panicked. Pyrrha Nikos was suddenly no longer the cute girlfriend of the French Noodle; she was a demon bent on vengeance. He hit his afterburners and turned away from her, presenting a perfect heat source for a Sidewinder shot. Abruptly, he realized it, came out of afterburner, and shot into a climb. Pyrrha pulled the stick back and pushed her throttles forward, following him into the climb. She realized Cardin wasn't quite as panicked as she thought: he had climbed into the sun peeking out of the clouds as they shot through them; Range Control would probably rule any Sidewinder shot as a miss, and she was too close for an AMRAAM shot. If Cardin was smart, he could simply leave her behind, level out, and reengage on his own terms, or hammerhead around and attack: the F-15 was far better in the vertical than she was.

But Pyrrha had another card left to play. She switched to guns and lined up her gunsight. "Pyrrha, guns, guns, guns on the Eagle!" She did not actually pull the trigger; her F-16 carried live rounds just in case a stray GRIMM should show up, just as Cardin's F-15 did. The kill would be recorded by the instrumentation pod, but she wasn't trying to "kill" Cardin with the gun, but herd him. If Cardin kept his head, she mused, he would just keep accelerating, out of gun range. If he didn't…

Cardin didn't. The F-15 fell over on one wing and nearly stalled: actually a good maneuver that might have forced Pyrrha into an overshoot…had she not already guessed that would be his next move. She rolled to the opposite of Cardin's turn, then reversed as she backed off the throttle, ending up squarely behind the F-15's twin tails. Pyrrha knew Cardin would be desperately trying to open the range, but she was in his helmet, inside his mental loop: Cardin was terrified, on the edge of losing control, afraid of the Greek fury that had wiped out his flight in less than a minute and was now relentlessly hunting him. She waited. The F-15's twin engines lit up with orange flame as Cardin engaged his afterburners.

"Got you," she whispered. Her fingers switched to Sidewinders and then pressed the mike button. "Pyrrha, Fox Two on the F-15."

"Roger that; Cardin's a mort." The range controller was shaking his head. "Pyrrha, splash four. Holy shit."

* * *

Back at Beacon, Jaune Arc waited patiently for Pyrrha to postflight her F-16. A very chagrined Cardinal Flight was just on approach. Once Pyrrha was finished and stuffing her helmet into its bag, he walked up to her. "Pyrrha."

She smiled at him. "Jaune."

"Why did you do that?" He pointed at Cardinal Flight, pitching out over the field to land.

She understood it well enough. "To show that, even outnumbered, you can still win."

"No, Pyrrha. What was the _real_ reason? You requested that fight."

She hesistated, tried to walk away, but Jaune grabbed her arm. She could not look at him. "I wanted to hurt Cardin for bullying you. And others. He needed to be taught a lesson."

Jaune let go. "Pyrrha…you know I can't thank you enough for the lessons you've been giving me. They've probably, literally saved my life. But you need to let me fight my own battles."

"I just wanted to—"

"Pyrrha, stop!" Jaune exclaimed, his voice just below a shout. "For God's sake! You're a friend, a great friend, but you're not my mother! I don't need you to defend me!"

Now she did face him, eyes glistening. "We're members of Juniper Flight. You mess with one of us—"

"Yes, I know!" Now Jaune _was_ shouting. "But humiliating a lot of guys just to prove a point isn't acting as a team. It's pursuing a vendetta. We didn't do it together—_you_ did it on your own. Without even asking me, Ren or Nora." Jaune could see he was not getting through to her—or it sure seemed he wasn't. "I would think you of all people would know better about going it alone, Pyrrha." He walked away, shaking his head.

Pyrrha watched him go, then began walking herself. She did not falter or fall to her knees, because that would be dramatic, and the Invincible Girl of Greece was not dramatic.

But she did cry.


	34. Secret Life

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Longish chapter, because I didn't want it to just be the Melancholy of Pyrrha Nikos. So you get a little of Pyrrha, a dash of Penny, a tot of Ruby, and a bit of Weiss. Sounds like the opening to an AMV of Mambo No. 5..._

_And speaking of older stuff, note the references to dial-up internet and Google being new. This story *does* take place in 2001, after all..._

* * *

_Building 71414 (Commander's Office, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

_To: Ozpin CO JRB Beacon_

_From: Arashikaze_

_Subject: Torchwick and White Fang_

_You were right. Delta Force hit dry hole in Cleveland. Have not heard from Source CAMO as source is embedded with Torchwick and is probably on the move. Will be looking through Ohio DZ, and will inform once more info is available._

_Request for money to pay your source in Madison approved. Will transfer from Banana Company funds. Just like the old days, huh?_

_Arashikaze_

Ozpin leaned back in his chair. Was this a victory or not? The Torchwick Gang, as he figured they would, had disappeared. That was good, because an air pirate gang that wasn't flying was no threat, and there were only so many places in the Ohio Dead Zone that Torchwick could hide. On the other hand, there was something to be said for the devil one knew.

He deleted the e-mail and looked at the news for the day. The 1st Armored Division's leading elements had detrained in Madison that morning, and were moving up to the Mississippi River. So far, there had been little protest, if any. The people of Wisconsin were always happy to see the government taking the GRIMM threat seriously. He mentally shrugged: if President Shawcross wanted to waste the taxpayer's money, that was his business.

There was a knock on his door. The Navy would have provided Ozpin a yeoman to act as a secretary, but he disdained the practice: he could answer his own door and take care of his own mail, thank you very much. "Come in," he called out.

Pyrrha Nikos walked in, stopped the regulation distance from his desk, and came to attention. Ozpin stood. "Major Nikos! Good to see you. Have a seat."

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I would rather stand, sir."

"Have a seat, Major." Pyrrha dropped into the seat opposite the desk; she knew an order when she heard one. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you, sir."

Ozpin hobbled over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. "What can I do for you, Major? I saw your dogfight this morning. That was an incredible showing. Four aircraft in less than two minutes. I suspect the students will be beating a path to your door asking how you did it."

Pyrrha did not look up. "Captain Ozpin, I must ask for a different assignment."

He turned around. "A new flight?"

"I imagine that would not be possible. No, sir…a reassignment back to Greece."

Ozpin went back to his desk. "I don't think your government would be too pleased with that."

Pyrrha laughed, bitterly. "I am the Invincible Girl of Greece, Captain. I'm on cereal boxes. They've talked about putting up a statue of me on Crete. They can do nothing to me."

"That you already haven't done to yourself." Ozpin sat on the edge of his desk. When she looked up at him, the hurt written on her face, he shook his head. "As I told Ruby Rose, Major Nikos, there is nothing you could have done that I haven't done already, a hundred times more. I read the confidential report. I know what you did. And I know something else: no matter how many times you mock kill Cardin Winchester and his flight, you're not going to exorcise those demons. You're trying to save Jaune Arc because you couldn't save your flight over Crete."

She returned to staring at the floor. "You're very perceptive, Captain."

"It comes with the territory, Major." Ozpin took a drink of coffee. "You command a squadron, a group or a base long enough, and you learn a lot about people. I also sense that your interest in Lieutenant Arc is not purely an attempt to make up for past failures."

A minute shake of the head. "No," she said softly.

Ozpin sighed. "The things we do for love," he said, in a whisper so quiet Pyrrha wasn't sure she heard him. "Request denied, Major Nikos," Ozpin said in a normal tone of voice. When she once more looked up at him, he gestured to her with the cup. "Major—Pyrrha—you would regret the decision somewhere over the Atlantic, and for the rest of your life. You know that as well as I do. You can only run so far. And if you want to make up for what happened over Crete, the best thing you can do is remain here, and teach others what you have learned…so it doesn't happen again. And let go of the past before it ruins you. What has happened has happened."

She said nothing. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Is there anything else, Major?"

"No, sir." Pyrrha stood to attention.

"Very well. My door is always open." She nodded, then turned to leave. When she reached the door, Ozpin stopped her. "Major?"

"Yes, sir?"

Ozpin hesitated for a moment. "Major Nikos, if you have feelings for Lieutenant Arc, do not let them interfere with your duty. But also do not deny them. That would be regrettable as well. Shutting away yourself only makes it worse."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Pyrrha closed the door behind her and left the building. She knew that Ozpin was right. She also knew that she should hold her head up, plaster an artificial smile on her face, and pretend like nothing was wrong. What she didn't know how to do was to solve her problems. As a result, Pyrrha ended up staring at her boots as she made her way back in the general direction of the female officers' barracks.

"Excuse me, Major." Pyrrha looked up and found herself at eye level with another female officer, this one in the light blue service uniform of the USAF. To Pyrrha's surprise, they were the same height: she didn't meet many women who were six feet tall as she was. The brunette was saluting her. "You didn't return my salute."

Pyrrha blushed in embarrassment and quickly returned the salute. "I'm sorry, Captain Fall. I was…distracted."

"Oh, no worries." The woman walked past a few paces, then stopped. "Major Nikos, can I speak frankly?"

_She probably just wants to discuss the dogfight today,_ Pyrrha thought to herself. _Another person that only cares about the Invincible Girl, not Pyrrha Nikos._ "Of course," she answered, unable to keep the tiredness out of her voice.

"You look like something is really bothering you. It's not my place to say that, perhaps—I think this is the first time we've met—but, well…are you all right?"

The Invincible Girl of Greece would have smiled, maybe laughed a little, and responded that of course she was all right. The vulnerable Pyrrha Nikos, who needed some human warmth from someone, anyone, right at that moment, merely shook her head.

Captain Fall stepped closer. "Woman to woman, Major…is it guy trouble?" That did make Pyrrha laugh, though it wasn't a particularly cheerful laugh. She nodded. The other woman laughed too. "Isn't it always?" She thumbed back towards the officers' club. "You want to commiserate? My guy dumped my ass too, back at Lakenheath. Another girl…well, you know how it is."

"I don't drink," Pyrrha replied. She did not want another repeat of the night with Jaune.

"Who said anything about drinking? We'll get some nachos and Cokes. You know how hard it is to get nachos in England?"

Pyrrha admitted to herself that it did sound pretty good, especially as her stomach rumbled. "Well…all right, Captain. That does sound lovely, at that."

"Call me Cinder," the brunette said with a warm smile.

* * *

_Building 82814 (Base Library)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

"Still don't get why we couldn't have done this from our room," Ruby grumped. Night had fallen at Beacon, and the night air had a bite to it. Winter wasn't quite letting go of Wisconsin without a fight.

"The Internet connection is better at the library," Weiss insisted. "We have to use that lousy dial-up in our room. The library has wifi."

"Dial-up isn't _that_ bad," Ruby said. "It was all we had in Patch." She didn't sound too convincing.

"Hmpf. We've had wifi for two years in Germany. Schnee GmbH marketed it in 1998." Weiss couldn't resist rubbing it in a little.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "'Oh, lookit me!'" she half-sang. "'My name is Weiss Schnee! I know facts! I'm rich as hell!'"

"Don't be a pest. And watch for that patch of ice there." The temperature was low enough that a few puddles of standing water had frozen.

"What ice?" Ruby found out a moment later when her shoes went out from under her. With a fighter pilot's reflexes, she kept herself from going completely ass over teakettle, but she still skidded forward with a savage oath. What might've ended with Ruby Rose going 1V1 with a tree was stopped when her jacket was caught by a strong hand. Now somewhat upright, Ruby was able to get off the ice and back on solid ground. "Whew! Thanks, Weiss!" Ruby turned, but instead of Weiss' white ponytail and pale complexion, she was confronted with reddish-orange hair and freckles.

"Salutations!" Penny Polendina said.

"Penny!" Ruby happily exclaimed. "Where have you been? We haven't seen you since the Lake Michigan Massacre!"

Penny abruptly let go of Ruby as if the latter had turned into a snake. "Oh! Ah, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. You must be confused! I've never been to Lake Michigan!" She hiccuped, backed away, then practically jogged away, leaving a very confused Ruby and Weiss behind her.

"That's…weird," Weiss said. "Why is she acting like she doesn't even know you? I mean, there's times _I_ want to act like I don't even know you, but Penny…"

"Ha ha. Just for that, you can start without me." Ruby chased off after Penny. "I'll meet you later!"

"Ruby!" Weiss called out, but Ruby was already charging after the other pilot. It was her turn to roll her eyes. "_Dummkopf._" Weiss adroitly avoided the ice and walked into the library. The computers were towards the back; the United States Air Force was yet to learn that computers concealed in cubicles to the rear were just asking for people to do all kinds of nefarious things on them. Weiss passed Sage Ayana looking at pictures of female beach volleyball stars in various states of undress, while next to him, Coco Adel snarled her way through _Duke Nukem 3D._ Weiss found a computer well away from them, sat down, and began typing away. Truth to be told, she was glad Ruby was gone; she was going to have to do some nefarious things herself.

* * *

Weiss took out a notebook and jotted down some notes.

_White Fang Funding_

_-Publicly, main source of funding comes from charities worldwide, mainly contributed to by Faunus_

_-Assumption: the people who contribute to White Fang charities think it's going to Faunus relief, not terrorists_

_-Blake says WF operates openly in Menagerie as a charity organization, but most Faunus know that Sienna Khan's "radical offshoot" organization isn't that at all_

_-Many (though not all) Faunus contribute to the charities because they __know__ that the WF are actually terrorists (since Blake's parents left—__most__ of the WF are terrorists)_

_-Even with the amount the charities give, it can't be enough to buy nearly 50 fighters, even black market_

_-Assumption: Torchwick can easily get gas in the Dead Zones, but not missiles or ammunition_

_-Assumption: he can get missiles and ammo off the black market, but that still costs money. Torchwick can supply himself, but not the WF __and__ his own gang_

_-__FOLLOW THE MONEY_

As Weiss got onto the internet, she started by looking at charitable donations to the White Fang. She wasn't exactly sure where to look up that information, but after plugging it into Google (Weiss usually used Ask Jeeves, but her father had invested in the new American startup—and her father did make wise business decisions), she found that the White Fang had their own website. To her surprise, the organization's webpage was well set up, with easy to use tabs. She clicked on _Donations_, and in an added surprise, the White Fang's public donation total for the year 2000 was right there, at the bottom of a page. _Seven million dollars? That's not nearly enough. Blake said she saw twelve MiG-21s at Cleveland, which she estimated at three million worth of equipment. Ruby and Juniper Flights…well, Penny, mostly…shot down nearly twice that number over Lake Michigan. Even by Blake's very conservative estimate, that's nine million dollars worth of equipment that's been shot down. And that doesn't even count that weird forward-swept wing thing that nearly killed Neptune. The research and development alone would cost millions. Even assuming the White Fang is getting a cut from the DUST robberies, it's still not enough. And the public charities have to be monitored. Maybe Blake's father does it, and he wouldn't tolerate this._ She stared at her reflection in the computer screen, and smiled wryly at herself. _Funny. A year ago I would've said that he was behind the whole thing, but not now._

Weiss sat back in her chair. There was a huge discrepancy here. The White Fang was getting a lot more money than what was officially listed. The question was, how to find out? The money could come from anywhere, and nowhere. Terrorist organizations had been around since the French Revolution; they always found funding. Then again, it was one thing to buy an old Russian assault rifle and an antitank missile launcher or two; it was quite different to supply an air squadron. Weiss knew that Vytal Flag probably cost the American and EU taxpayers somewhere in the range of a quarter of a billion dollars.

Part of Weiss just wanted to drop the whole idea, close down the browser, and go play some _Doom_ or something, like Coco. She was a fighter pilot, not an Interpol agent or spy. This was far outside her baliwick, and she vastly preferred hopping in _Myrtenaster_ and blowing away White Fang—that kill mark beneath her canopy was getting lonely, and having tasted blood, Weiss wanted more. Ozpin could damn well look up his own information. So could Ironwood and so could Winter. Her fingers hovered over the mouse; the cursor hovered over closing the window.

She didn't click the mouse. Blake was right: no one else seemed to care. Even Winter seemed unconcerned. Ozpin at least recognized the threat, and however she might think her beloved elder sister could be pigheaded and her father an idiot, Weiss was still a Schnee, and the White Fang were a direct threat to the Schnee. Besides, she was curious.

Weiss glanced at her notes, and that was when she saw it, at the bottom of the White Fang's webpage: _Our Sponsors._ On impulse, she clicked on the tab.

Five companies were listed: _Latin American Faunus Resettlement Corporation, Purple Sage Corporation, Reedy Creek Faunus Youth Ranch Corporation, Menagerie Properties Corporation, _and _Cerberus Properties Corporation._

"That's odd," Weiss said aloud. She put the names of each company into the search engine in turn. Latin American Faunus Resettlement was exactly that: a company that specialized in moving Faunus from Menagerie to the warmer climates of Central and South America. Reedy Creek was a ranch in Canada that took care of troubled Faunus teenagers. Menagerie Properties was a real estate company that resettled Faunus refugees in Menagerie. Of Purple Sage and Cerberus, Weiss could find nothing, other than the three-headed hound that guarded the Greek underworld; the best she could do with Purple Sage was _Riders of the Purple Sage,_ a century-old Zane Grey western. Weiss knew that one because it was her father's favorite book. Like many Germans, Joachim Schnee had a fascination with the American Old West, and especially Western novels.

Weiss once more found herself at an impasse. The first three corporations were all legitimate and the last two were unknowns. There was nothing in the least nefarious about them, really. In its "open" form, the White Fang was a Faunus civil rights group, so it made perfect sense that resettlement, refugee and youth help groups would sponsor them. What didn't make sense was any of those companies having the millions of dollars to support the White Fang. Even the most successful youth ranch in the world didn't have millions of dollars of assets.

_All right,_ Weiss told herself, _focus. Remember your notes: follow the money. Every one of those corporations have to have stockholders._ _And if they're publicly traded, or they're charity organizations, their taxes and donors are generally public knowledge._ _Time to start using that business degree, Weiss. And all that knowledge that your father stuffed in your ears to prepare you to run the Schnee company._

It took an hour. Ruby did not return, but Weiss did not notice. She didn't notice when Coco finally threw the mouse at the screen in frustration, or when Sage got up and left. She didn't even notice when Velvet came in, peered over her shoulder in curiosity at the heir to the Schnee fortune looking up Faunus real estate sales, then checked her e-mail in the cubicle next to Weiss and left. With the laser focus that had gotten Weiss top marks in everything she had ever done, she researched each company, even the unknowns, and found the principle shareholder in all five of the White Fang's donors.

The library lights blinked to let the patrons know they had ten minutes before closing, but that wasn't the reason Weiss Schnee sat upright in her chair, utter horror on her face.

"Oh my God," Weiss said. "Oh my God." She looked down at her notes to confirm it, but there it was, in black pen against yellow paper.

The principal shareholder in all five companies was Schnee GmbH.


	35. I Think I'm a Clone Now

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A shorter chapter this time as we begin the ramp up to the dance and all hell breaking loose (again). Rather appropriate that this chapter features the background of this world's Penny Polendina._

_And while there's a bit of White Knight in here, never fear...I am totally onboard the Arkos ship. But if there's punching bags in RWBY, they're named Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos..._

* * *

_Base Quad_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

Ruby spotted Penny running across the Quad, and smiled to herself. At Patch High School, Ruby had lettered in track: if one Lieutenant Polendina thought she was going to outrun one Lieutenant Rose, she had another thing coming. Even given Penny's head start, Ruby quickly caught up to her. Penny dashed across the main street of the base, Arryn Avenue, but could not shake her pursuer. Abruptly, Penny stopped, which cause Ruby to do the same.

"Watch out!" Penny took three steps forward, grabbed Ruby with one hand, and effortlessly tossed her out of the way, a second before a car would have run her over. It skidded to a halt with a squeal of tires, and Scarlet David leaned out of the driver's window. "Oh shit!" he yelled. "You guys okay? I didn't even see you!"

Ruby had landed hard on her rear end, but other than bruises, the only thing that was hurt was her pride. "I'm okay!" she yelled back. "Penny?"

"I'm fine, thank you!" Penny hiccuped as she said it.

Scarlet blew out his breath in relief. "Whew! Don't run out in the street like that! _Ben-Zonna!"_ He drove away, albeit at a much slower speed.

Penny limped over to Penny. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," Ruby repeated. She got to her feet. "How did you do that?" Ruby was proud that she didn't weigh that much, but she wasn't _that_ skinny.

"Not here," Penny whispered, although there wasn't anyone within hearing distance, and pulled Ruby into a small park off the street. There were some shade trees there, and Penny, who was still limping, sat down heavily on a bench. Ruby sat down next to her. "So you _do_ remember me," she said.

Penny winced as she pulled off her shoe. "Of course. You're my friend." She smiled at Ruby. "I'm sorry I acted like I didn't know you back there with Miss Schnee. I'm really not supposed to get…attached to people. It's nothing personal. It's just that my father worries about me."

"Heh. I know _that_ feeling." Ruby looked down as Penny pulled off her sock. She noticed tire tracks across the shoe. "Holy shit, Penny! He ran over your foot!"

"It's fine." Penny hiccuped. "All right, it's not _quite_ fine, but nothing's broken." She held up a pale foot for inspection. There was a nasty bruise spreading across it, but Penny wiggled her toes. "I'll be okay in a day or two."

"You sure you don't want me to take you over to the hospital?"

"For this?" Penny scoffed. "It's fine, Ruby, really."

Ruby stood. "Okay, out with it."

"Out with what?"

"First of all, you show up when we're engaged with the White Fang's air force—which they're not supposed to have, by the way—and then you blow them all away with a freaking B-1. Triple ace in a day! I get that your B-1 has been modded, but damn, girl!"

"Well…" Penny looked sheepish. "I wasn't really supposed to do that…"

"Before that you acted weird with me and Weiss, and just now you pretend you don't know either one of us!" Ruby exclaimed. "And now you pick me up with one hand like Darth friggin' Vader—"

"Who?"

"—and throw me around like I'm a sack of potatoes! Then Scarlet runs over your foot and it's just _bruised?_ It should be broken!" Ruby ran out of breath. "Who the hell are you?"

Ruby half-expected Penny to run off again. Instead, Penny put her shoe and sock back on, and stared at the ground. "I'm…not a real girl." Her voice was so quiet Ruby wasn't sure what she had heard.

"What?"

"I'm not a real girl. I mean, I'm a girl, but I'm not real. I'm real in the sense that I am here and taking up space, but I'm not…" Penny sighed in frustration. "I'm not explaining this very well…"

"Yeah, no shit." Ruby's eyes widened. "Wait. You're a goddamn _robot?"_

"What? No!" Penny laughed. "That's just preposterous, Ruby. Our technology isn't that good. At least, not yet." She wagged a finger at her. "And you shouldn't use God's name in vain, Ruby. My father has warned me about that."

Ruby sat down next to Penny. "I'm so confused."

"Understandable. Let me try again." Penny took a breath. "Most girls are born. You know, the male impregnates the female with his—"

"I'm familiar with the concept," Ruby told her, then blushed. "I mean, not _familiar_ familiar, but, well…"

"I understand. I too am still a virgin." Before Ruby could scream in embarrassment, Penny continued. "I was made in a test tube, with donated reproductive material. Then I was…well…grown. And in the process, genetic manipulation was done to make me stronger and faster than the average human. My bones are reinforced—which is why my foot isn't broken—and my muscles are also enhanced. This allows me to better withstand Gs. I don't even need to wear a G-suit. My lungs are larger than yours so that I don't need as much oxygen. And my eyes have been modified for better visual acuity with cornea transplants."

Ruby's head spun. She was quite sure she didn't have anywhere near the security clearance for this. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm not, Ruby." Penny could not meet her eyes. "Like I said. I'm not a real girl."

Ruby said nothing for a moment, then reached out and poked Penny in the shoulder. She did it twice before Penny pulled away. "Did that hurt?" Ruby asked.

"No, but it's distinctly uncomfortable."

"I know you bleed. Do you put on your flight suit one leg at a time?"

"Of course. It would be extraordinarily difficult otherwise."

"Then according to what my dad used to say, you're human just like the rest of us. Well, except the Faunus, but I guess they're kinda human too." At Penny's perplexed expression, Ruby added, "Dad says that if you bleed red and put your pants on one leg at a time, then you must be a human being."

Penny's confusion melted into the biggest, most happy smile Ruby had ever seen. She threw her arms around Ruby. "Oh, Ruby! You're the best friend I've ever had!"

Ruby felt her bones creaking and gasped for air. "Yep…that's…me…" Penny let her go. Ruby massaged her shoulders. "I get why you don't want people to know about you." Ruby half-wished she didn't know about Penny; the knowledge that cloning was apparently being extended beyond sheep was just a bit overwhelming. "But why are they, whoever they are, so protective? Seems to me you can handle yourself." She thought about Penny's strength, and imagined that the girl could probably bench press a truck.

"My father doesn't want to see me hurt." Ruby nodded at that; it was something she could understand. Too often, Ruby had seen the expression on Taiyang Xiao Long's face when he saw his girls in their flight suits. "But it will be my job to protect the world some day. That's why I'm here at Beacon, at Vytal Flag, actually. My father wants me to learn about the world and test myself and my B-1. Originally I was supposed to have a brand new aircraft, built just for me, but then the prototype got stolen and I got the B-1 instead. Not that I mind." Penny shrugged. "He didn't anticipate I'd be testing like I did over Lake Michigan, but it certainly proved I'm combat ready."

"Who's your father?"

Penny shook her head. "I can't tell you that, Ruby." Ruby wasn't sure why—Penny had told her everything else—but before she could press Penny for details, they heard voices approaching. "Uh oh. I think those are my minders. You'd better hide."

Ruby wanted to protest, but thought better of it. If anyone like Ozpin or Ironwood found out that Ruby knew this level of a secret, her next duty assignment might be the military prison at Fort Leavenworth. "Will you be okay?"

"I think so. You won't tell anyone about me, will you?"

Ruby winked. "Of course not. You're my friend." She quickly jumped behind some nearby bushes. Through the hedge, she spotted two military policemen, flanking an African-American woman in Air Force blues. All three wore the dark blue beret of USAF Security Forces. "There you are," the woman said, with just the hint of a Cajun accent.

"Salutations, Ciel."

"Where have you been? And where's the girl that was chasing you?"

"Just out for a walk. But I've been by myself the whole time." Penny hiccuped loudly. She got to her feet, but winced with pain.

"Are you all right?" Ciel asked.

"Just a bad bruise. Someone ran over my foot."

Ciel shook her head. "Penny, General Ironwood's going to very upset about this."

"It's my own fault." Another hiccup.

Ciel sighed and smiled. "It's all right. Let's go get you looked at. You can walk around, Penny, but be careful who you talk to, okay?"

"No problem, Ciel. I'm very careful who I talk to." As they walked off, Penny quickly threw a wink back in Ruby's direction.

* * *

_Building 82814 (Base Library)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

Weiss wandered out of the library in a daze. She had to consciously remember to grab her notes and stuff them into a folder before she left. She stepped squarely on the ice, but did not even wobble. _This can't be right,_ she told herself. _My family can't be funding the White Fang. That doesn't even make any damn sense! Why would my father be sending money to dummy companies that funnel the money straight to the people that want to kill us? No, I missed something, somewhere._

Weiss abruptly turned and headed for the command post. _Winter. Winter will know. She always knows what to do._ Then Weiss remembered that, this late, Winter was almost certainly either in bed or heading towards bed. The elder Schnee was in the VOQ, so Weiss changed direction. She also nearly ran down Jaune Arc.

"Whoa!" Jaune flailed for something to grab, almost grabbed Weiss' blouse—which would have ended disastrously for all involved—and fell into the grass instead. She took another few steps, then turned and helped him up. "Sorry, Jaune. Are you all right?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, I'm okay, Weiss." Satisfied that Jaune was intact, Weiss turned and began striding towards the VOQ again. Jaune, to her surprise, caught up with her. "Weiss!"

"What?" Jaune half-expected her to snap at him, or tell him to go away. Instead, her voice merely sounded distracted, which she was…but Jaune had always been a little slow on the uptake when it came to women, in spite of growing up with his sisters.

"Um…Weiss?" Jaune stumbled over both his words and his feet.

"Yes, Jaune?" Just the slightest hint of irritation.

"Want to go to the dance with me?"

"There's a dance?" Weiss dimly remembered that Goodwitch had announced the annual Joint Base Beacon Spring Formal. It was as much a part of Vytal Flag as the flying and classroom learning.

"Yeah, would you—"

"Sure," Weiss said, and picked up the pace. Jaune was left behind, mainly because he stopped in shock. He hadn't expected her to agree so quickly. He hadn't expected her to agree at all. It slowly sank in that he, Lieutenant Jaune Arc, would be taking Oberleutnant Weiss Schnee, the Ice Queen of Beacon, to a formal dance. An actual date. With a girl that wasn't his sister taking pity on him. A girl that was attractive, warm (sort of), and could fly as good or better than anyone in the sky. The heir to a fortune.

Jaune wondered why it didn't seem like much of a victory.


	36. Bizarre Love Triangle

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: What a tangled web we weave. For those of you just here for the missile shots and flying, this chapter may be a little boring, but RWBY itself is more than just beating up Grimm. And for those who wanted more Nora...here you go. Ren shows up in the next chapter. So does Renora!_

_The idea of Cinder and Pyrrha commiserating over guy problems amuses me for some reason. Of course, if Cinder Fall is indeed based on Cinderella, then she really does have some guy problems..._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

Nora Valkyrie was engaging in her second favorite pastime, reading a comic book—her favorite pastime was admiring Lie Ren's physique—when Pyrrha walked in. "Hey, Pyrrha."

"Hello, Nora." Pyrrha walked over to her bed and threw herself on it. She instantly regretted it as her stomach reminded her of the plate of nachos she had shared with Cinder Fall. She sat up on her pillow.

Nora put down the comic book. "You okay?"

Pyrrha did not answer. Cinder had done her best to help—she had proven a good listener. Pyrrha had not told her everything that had happened over Crete, but she said enough. The brunette had told her that killing air pirates was nothing to be ashamed about, and that casualties happened in war, but Pyrrha had heard those words before, even spoken them herself.

As far as Jaune went, Cinder had poured out her experiences with men. She regarded them as pigs, interested in little more than getting her clothes off when off-duty, and as an interloper on duty. Despite nearly 35 years of female fighter pilots, born in the desperation of the Third World War, there were still a few male fighter pilots who would prefer that, now that the emergency was over, the ladies should get themselves back on their pedestals and back in the kitchen.

Pyrrha wasn't sure if she agreed with Cinder: certainly, she was aware that she was a rather attractive woman and she couldn't count all the times she had felt herself being mentally stripped. There were a lot of people who wanted to see the Invincible Girl of Greece the _Naked _Invincible Girl of Greece. However, her male squadronmates in the HAF were not like that, and aside from Cardin Winchester's crude remarks, she had run into nothing like that at Beacon. Ren was a perfect gentleman, and so was Jaune. The latter could have easily taken advantage of her in her drunkenness, but Jaune had been kind, discreet, and gentle.

"Pyrrha? Nora to Pyrrha, are you receiving on this channel?"

Pyrrha abruptly realized that she had been staring into space for a few minutes. "I'm sorry, Nora. Just distracted."

Nora got up and walked over, plunking herself down on Pyrrha's bed. "Yeah, I bet. Jaune was in here looking for you earlier. He said he wanted to apologize."

"He has nothing to apologize for, Nora. He's right." Pyrrha sighed. "I let my own anger override my good sense. I wanted to get revenge on Cardinal Flight for no other reason than Cardin bullies Jaune."

"What's wrong with that? Bastard deserved it."

"No, Nora," Pyrrha replied, shaking her head. "I did that before, in Greece, and it…well, it didn't end well. I should've at least talked to the rest of the flight about it. Jaune's upset because he wants to fight his own fights, not let his girlfr—his friend fight them for him." One look at Nora and Pyrrha knew that she hadn't covered herself in time, and the Greek girl turned beet red.

"Girlfriend? You and Jaune?" Nora leered. She stretched out on the bed, chin in her hands. "Tell me more, Pyrrha!"

Pyrrha's blush deepened, if that was possible. "We're—we're not."

"Why not?" Pyrrha opened her mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, then closed it again. "C'mon, Pyr. He likes you."

Pyrrha remembered what Cinder had said. "I'm sure he does." She regretted it instantly. It made her sound bitter and spiteful.

Nora only giggled. "Sure, he thinks you're sexy. Ren probably thinks you're sexy._ I _think you're sexy, and I don't go for girls. But Jaune, I think, likes you for who you are. He's seen you at your worst, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Nora lightly slapped Pyrrha's knee. "The night of the party? You came back here and got wrecked on your own. Jaune put you to bed. I know it wasn't me, because I was passed out on the bar, and I know it wasn't Ren, because I accidentally punched him. Besides, I found two empty bottles of ouzo in the trash, and the place reeked of it. And somebody puked in the bathroom, and it wasn't Jaune."

"Oh, God." Pyrrha buried her face in her hands. Nora knew. And if Nora knew, Ren knew.

"Stop it, Pyr. You think you're the first girl to get fucked up? Hey, at least you didn't take off all your clothes. There ain't a fighter pilot on this base who hasn't seen everything I've got, including Cardin Winchester, and yes, that keeps me awake some nights." Nora hopped off the bed. "But you know, Ren saw all that and he's still my boyfriend. Jaune's seen you knee-walking drunk and he still likes you. And he still likes you now."

"He's upset with me."

"Then go talk to him and apologize. I bet Jaune's waiting for you on the flightline right now. Heck, I bet he'll apologize too. It's about time for your training session."

"Damn," Pyrrha breathed. She'd forgotten about that. She hesitated a moment, then got up and pulled her flight suit out of the closet. "You're right, Nora. At the very least, I should continue working with him." She remembered Ozpin's words. Helping Jaune learn how to stay alive might not bring back her flight, but she would be truly damned if she'd sit by and let Crete happen again.

"That's the spirit." Nora got Pyrrha's boots out for her.

"How do you and Ren handle it? A relationship, I mean."

It was Nora's turn to blush. "Well…we're not…together-together, if you know what I mean." When Pyrrha clearly did not know what she meant, Nora sighed. Her friend might be one of the finest fighter pilots on the planet, but sometimes Major Nikos could be a bit dense. "We're not sleeping together."

"Oh."

"Yeah, most people figure that we're banging, but it's not like that. I've known Ren for a long time, and I'm…we're not quite ready for that. Though it'll happen eventually." Nora smiled. "I'm really sure of that. But there's time to take things slow." That crafty look came back in the American girl's eyes. "You know…there's a formal dance coming up in a week. You should ask Jaune. Assuming he doesn't ask you first."

"Oh…oh, no," Pyrrha laughed nervously. "I'm a terrible dancer."

"So what?"

"He's probably asked someone else." Under Nora's look, Pyrrha wilted. "All right, _maybe_ he hasn't. But still…"

"But nothing." Nora zipped up the front of Pyrrha's flight suit, nearly catching the other girl's bosom in it. "If he doesn't ask you out, Pyrrha, you'd better ask him, or so help me, you'll be sleeping outside tonight!"

* * *

_Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

Winter Schnee winced as someone knocked on her door—or, rather, tried to bash it down. She raised her voice. "I'm coming!" Then she looked disgustedly at the phone. "Oh, shut up. I'll see you in two weeks. Until then, spare me your crude humor." She hung up, got up off the bed, and walked to the door, which shook in its frame. Winter flung it open. To her surprise, it was her sister. "What is it?"

"We need to talk."

Winter yawned. "I was just about to go to bed. Can it wait until the—" Winter gasped as Weiss shoved her aside. "By all means, come in." She shut the door. "What is wrong with you?"

"This." Weiss thrust a folder into her hands. "Read it."

"Why should I—"

"Read it!" Weiss shouted. Winter, taken aback by her sister's sudden rage, walked over to the bed and sat down. Though she was alone in the room, there were two beds, so Weiss sat on the other one while Winter opened the folder and read.

Weiss expected a lot of things from her sister. Outright denial was one—something along the lines of a glacial stare and a snarl that the Schnee company would never do something like fund the White Fang. Calm acceptance was another—Winter would say that of course she was aware of it, that their father had been doing it for some time, and Weiss needed to shut up and accept it.

What she was not expecting was Winter's frown fading to genuine shock, the pale blue eyes widening to almost comical proportions. She looked up at Weiss. "This cannot be true. This is not correct." She shuffled through the notes. "This is a lie."

"Would I lie, Winter? About something like this?" Weiss shook her head. "Believe me, this is the last thing I wanted to learn."

"This is not correct," Winter repeated.

"Do you think I'm lying, Winter? Really?"

Winter set aside the folder. Still open, some of the notes drifted out and fell to the floor. Winter stared at Weiss, but her eyes were focused beyond her sister. "This is not correct—"

"Winter, _stop it!_" Weiss exclaimed. "Mein Gott, don't you think I wanted to be wrong? I have a degree in business management, Winter—one which Father insisted I get—and I used it! Face the truth—Schnee GmbH is funneling money to the White Fang! I know it! I know it all!" In frustration, Weiss kicked at the notes on the floor. "The only thing I don't know is why!"

Winter stood, looming over her younger sister. Even dressed in pajamas with her hair down, she was still intimidating. Her hands came up, almost as if she wanted to choke her sister. Then they slowly came down, and to Weiss' abject surprise, she saw tears in Winter's eyes. "I don't know either, Weiss. Why…why would Father do it?" She sank back onto the bed.

"There's no money involved," Weiss said after a period of silence. "Our family isn't making any money off of this—if anything, we're losing money." She paused. "So you do believe me."

"Weiss, you are many things. A liar is not one of them." Winter rubbed at her eyes, and her expression turned angry, as if upset at showing weakness in front of her sister. "Perhaps it isn't Father. There are others in Schnee GmbH that could do this." Her voice lacked conviction.

"Who would know?"

Winter thought a moment. "I'm not sure. Whitley's too young, and Mother…" She chuckled ruefully. "Well, Mother is Mother. Perhaps Klein?"

Weiss nodded. Klein Sieben was the Schnee family's chief butler. "There's little that goes on in our family that Klein doesn't know about." She reached across and took her sister's hands. "Winter, what if we went to Father directly?"

"No. That would be foolish. Not only would he deny it, but he would probably have both of us on a plane home, for a psychiatric evaluation. Especially you." Both sisters unconsciously suppressed a shudder. Weiss and Winter had worked most of their lives to escape the Schnee mansion; the last thing either wanted was to be forced to return.

Winter reached down, gathered up the notes, and carefully placed them back into the folder. "I noticed you have two copies of everything in here. One for me, and one for you?" Weiss nodded. "Good. Very smart. You are taking no chances that either of us would be compromised."

"That…wasn't the entire reason." Weiss looked away from her sister.

"You didn't trust me not to destroy a single copy of the notes and forget this ever happened." Winter took out her copies and handed the folder to Weiss. "Smart. I would have done the same thing."

"We have to trust each other. I'm sorry for thinking that about you."

Winter took the notes, crossed over to the safe built into the small desk in a corner of the room, and put them in. "Don't apologize for being cautious, Weiss. If our positions were reversed…I don't know if I would have trusted me, either." She closed and locked the safe. "Hide those."

"I have to tell the rest of my flight, Winter."

Winter hesitated. "Do you trust them?"

"Yes." The reply was instant and firm.

"Then I must trust them as well."

Weiss stood up. "Winter, I came straight to you. But I don't think I can take this any further. I've exhausted what skills I do have."

"And you must concentrate on your duties to Ruby Flight and the Luftwaffe." Winter gave her a single nod. "I will inquire into this, Weiss. I will let you know as soon as I know something. As I trust you…you must trust me."

"Always and forever." Weiss hugged her sister, who returned it. "You've always been there, Winter. Always. I love you." She felt tears in her own eyes, and brushed them away with a smile as she looked up at her sister. "I don't say that enough."

"I love you too, Weiss." She returned the hug, and then gently pushed her sister away. "You should probably get some sleep."

"I will. Thank you."

"Thank you, Weiss." Winter watched her sister leave, then walked over to her bed. She sat down heavily, glanced at the phone, then laid down. "Father," she said, fighting back tears, "what have you done?"

* * *

In the VOQ hallway, Weiss walked towards the entrance when she saw another pilot walking towards her. It took a moment to place him, but finally Weiss remembered that this was Mercury Black, Creamer Flight's F-16 pilot. "Good evening," she said.

"Hey." He stood aside to let her pass. "Ah, Oberleutnant?"

Weiss turned. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Mercury stared directly at her, with an intensity that took Weiss aback. "There's a dance coming up next week. Would you like to go?"

There it was, direct and without hesitation. Weiss appraised the lieutenant. He was tall, a little skinny, but with a handsome face under the prematurely graying hair. Under the issue shirt, she could see the outline of muscles. Though Weiss would not even admit it to her sister, not even under torture, she did like guys who worked out. "Tell me, Lieutenant," she said coolly, "are you asking me as Weiss or as Oberleutnant Schnee?" Through much experience, Weiss could spot a gold digger a mile away. She did not get that impression from Mercury, but it was worth asking the question. And it got her mind off her family.

"I'm asking you because you're quite beautiful." His smile was rakish. Another weakness, Weiss admitted to herself—she did like a bad boy, every now and then.

"Well, Lieutenant. This is rather sudden, don't you think? And forward?" She held up a hand as he began to speak. This game's rules she understood. "Actually, I appreciate it. I respect a man who knows what he wants and is not afraid to say it. Let me think about it."

Mercury gave her a half-bow. "I await your invitation…Weiss." Weiss turned and continued to walk away, but could not help but put just the slightest sashay in her walk. She knew Mercury was staring at her rear end.

She had forgotten completely about Jaune.

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_24 April 2001_

When Pyrrha arrived at Jaune's Mirage, she was surprised to see him in his regular uniform, not his flight suit. "Jaune? Aren't we going up tonight?" Sudden fear welled up inside her: Jaune did not want to train with her any longer.

"Pyrrha…" Jaune made sure they were alone. He had already sent his ground crew back to the barracks for the night, but one could never be sure there wasn't someone else lurking around. "I'm sorry about what I said today."

"Oh." Pyrrha smiled, remembering what Nora had said. "That's all right."

"It's not. I still think you shouldn't act alone, but I could've handled it better. I'm the flight commander, after all. Praise in public, punish in private—my uncle told me that once." Jaune was turning red. "You're a great person, Pyrrha. But you're part of a team, okay? We need to remember that. All for one and one for all…that sort of thing."

"Of course. You're right. And Jaune? I will not do those things again." Pyrrha cradled her helmet bag as if it were a stuffed animal, for comfort. "I spoke with Captain Ozpin today. He pointed out some things to me that…honestly…I had not thought of. I have been fighting ghosts. I can't bring back my flight. I can't run away from those memories or those friends. But I can make new ones, with my new friends." She remembered the American saying. "Are we good?"

Jaune nodded vigorously. He stepped forward, arms raised, but abruptly stopped. There were other people around in the other hardstands, including Pyrrha's ground crew. Pyrrha was his friend, but she was also a superior officer. He could not really hug her. He quickly put his hands behind his back. "Yeah, we're good. Definitely. Let's just put it behind us."

"Did you still want to fly tonight?" Pyrrha asked.

"If it's okay with you…no. It's been a long day. Let's just get some rest and go tomorrow night, okay?"

"Sure." Truth to be told, Pyrrha admitted, she was pretty tired at that. She remembered something else Nora had said, and it seemed as good of a time as any. She didn't feel like waiting any longer. "Jaune…would you like to accompany me to the formal dance next week?"

Jaune's face fell. He turned pale. Pyrrha put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" Men had many reactions to Pyrrha Nikos, but terror was not one of them—at least, not on the ground.

"I asked Weiss to the dance, and well…" He put a hand over his eyes. "She actually accepted. I can't believe it myself, but she did."

Pyrrha felt two emotions. The first was a desire to burst into tears, because she had been sure Jaune would accept. She liked him, and she knew he liked her. The second was to murder Weiss Schnee, or at least render her unconscious a few times.

She fought those down. She was not about to cry like some teenager, and if Weiss accepted, then good for her. Jaune Arc was a good man, and fairly handsome. There was no reason to feel jealous. "That's wonderful, Jaune," she told him.

"No, it's not."

"Why?"

"Because that means I have to say no to you. If I'd known you were interested, I would never have asked her."

_That's me,_ Pyrrha thought bitterly. _Always a day late and a drachma short. _"Jaune, it's all right. Really." Despite the bitterness, Pyrrha meant it. Weiss was quite a catch, and she found herself proud that her protégé had worked up the courage to ask the German girl out. The Jaune Arc of a few weeks ago would have made a fool of himself, done something stupid like sing to her, and Weiss would have slammed a door in his face.

"I'm sorry," Jaune apologized.

"Stop, Jaune. As I said, it's quite all right."

"If you say so." Jaune felt lower than a snake's underside. "Well, I guess…I guess you've got hundreds of guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out."

_Oh sure,_ Pyrrha mused darkly, _all of them wanting the Invincible Girl, so they can brag about having fucked her._ She wondered if Cinder Fall had a point after all. "You'd be surprised."

Jaune laughed, which surprised her. "Pyrrha, now you stop. If you don't have a date to the dance, I'll wear a dress. I think Blake is about my size."

The image of Jaune in a dress made Pyrrha giggle despite herself, especially the idea of Jaune in the formal Marine dress skirt. "I'll hold you to it."

"I expect you to! An Arc never goes back on his word." He shivered. "Let's get back inside. It's getting cold and late."

"Actually, I think I will go for a flight tonight. Just myself." And my ghosts, Pyrrha finished. But she could think of no better idea than a moonlight flight. At Jaune's look of concern, she smiled. "I'm okay, Jaune. I'll see you in the morning."

"I better." He moved past her, stopped, put a hand on her shoulder, and left. Pyrrha watched him go, and put a hand where his hand had been. Even through the glove, it was warm.


	37. Obsession

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A chapter of intrigue, romance, and bad guys. I hope any British readers I have will forgive my attempts at a Cockney accent._

* * *

_Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_25 April 2001_

There was a knock at the door of Cinder Fall's room. She put down the book she was reading, went down the short hall to the door, and let in Emerald Sustrai and Mercury Black. "Good morning." Despite it being a Wednesday, Ozpin had taken mercy on his pilots and given them the day off after a marathon of 12-hour days. As Emerald and Mercury took a seat on the second bed, Cinder switched on the radio, though she kept the volume low. There was no reason to think that the room was bugged, but she knew Ozpin's background as an intelligence agent, and the radio noise would help drown out their voices.

Cinder took a moment to regard her associates. Mercury Black wore the light blues and the silver bars of a USAF 1st Lieutenant, while Emerald's uniform was the same shade, but she carried the three stars of a Spanish Air Force Captain. Both were false colors: though Mercury was indeed an American and Emerald Spanish, neither had ever flown for the services they supposedly represented. Cinder was not worried: Leonardo Lionheart had made sure their bona fides were secure. An inquiry to Lakenheath, Aviano or Torrejon would find that Captain Fall, Lieutenant Black, and Captain Sustrai had been assigned there for the past four years, along with letters of commendation and rent stubs. A more closer investigation would find anomalies—such as the fact that no one at those bases actually knew any of those names—but Cinder was confident that the bureaucracy moved slow, and what they were actually here for would be over before anyone became suspicious.

The only one missing was Ruth Lionheart, but there were other plans for her.

"So. Report," Cinder told them, sitting on her bed.

"Got good news on my front," Mercury said with a smirk. "Purely coincidental, too. I was heading back to my room last night when I ran into Weiss Schnee, right here in the VOQ. I asked her out, and while she didn't accept, she didn't say no. If I read her looks right, she's interested."

Emerald rolled her eyes. "She's way out of your league."

"Doesn't matter. We just need her as an alibi. I'm curious as to what she was doing here in the VOQ, though."

"Winter Schnee is staying three doors down from here. Probably just a visit to her sister." Cinder nodded at Emerald. "What did you find out?"

"The computer center here on base has one guard—an air policeman, and they're on a roving patrol. They're bored and complacent. I was able to get all the way to the server room before they even noticed I was there, and they totally bought my story that I was trying to find the bathroom." Emerald laughed. She had learned long ago that people would buy the simplest stories the easiest, because they wanted to believe it. The amateur thief was sure that they would be found out; the master knew that they never would be.

"Good."

"What did you find out?" Mercury asked. "I saw you with Pyrrha Nikos in the Officers' Club yesterday. The Invincible Girl of Greece—hell, even I've heard of her."

"She's good," Cinder replied, "but I wouldn't say invincible."

"Oh?"

Cinder hesitated a second before continuing. Communication was indeed key, but Mercury was her subordinate, not her confidant. She had no faith in him: Mercury was a shotgun to be pointed in the right direction of a target. As such, he was useful and that was all. "I did some research on Major Nikos before we came here. Yes, it's true that she wiped out an air pirate band over Greece, but it's not general knowledge that she killed the survivors in their parachutes."

Emerald shrugged. "So? They deserved it. Good for her."

"Perhaps, but Miss Nikos suffers from deep guilt over the subject. Her squadron was wiped out before she got there. Not her fault, from what I understand, but she thinks it is. We can use that."

"You should be able to take her in the air, if it comes to that," Emerald said.

Cinder smiled at the compliment. Emerald, in her own way, loved Cinder Fall, and had since Cinder had rescued her from being captured by the Spanish police. Everyone had a weakness, and Cinder was quite good at exploiting those weaknesses. It was why she was at Beacon. "It's not about overpowering the enemy in the air, Emerald. It's about taking away what power they have before you even leave the runway. Know the enemy and know yourself, and you will be the victor of a thousand battles," she quoted. "And we will be victorious, in time."

"I hate waiting," Mercury groused.

"Don't worry, Mercury. We have a fun week ahead of us." There was another knock at the door. "All of us."

As Cinder walked to the door, Mercury could not hide the disdain on his face. "God, I hate that little peppy bitch."

Emerald kicked back on the bed. "Oh, she's not so bad. She means well."

"Yeah. That's the problem."

* * *

Cinder opened the door and looked down at Ruth Lionheart. At 5'11, Cinder was nearly a foot taller than Ruth, who barely made the height requirement for Royal Air Force pilots—and Cinder wondered if the Faunus had been standing on tiptoes to reach that. She closely resembled her father—the same light tan skin, the feline tail that twitched impatiently behind her, small ears that poked out from her brown mane. She had a special dispensation for that hair: it was far longer than normal regulation. Her eyes were large, brown and expressive. "'Ello, Captain!" she chirped. In anyone else, the Cockney accent would've been annoying, but on Ruth Lionheart, it was oddly charming.

Cinder sincerely wished she could knock Ruth cold and dump her down the nearest mine shaft.

"Hello, Ruth. Come on in."

Ruth walked into the room. "'Ello, everyone!"

"Morning," Emerald said. Mercury said nothing.

"Well, I see Mercury's his usual cheery self," Ruth said, and plopped down next to him just to annoy him. "And how are you this fine morning, Cinder?" It came out as "Cindah."

"I'm fine, Ruth. We were just discussing the dance this weekend."

"Oh, yes! That's going to be fine." She looked around. "Everyone got dates yet?"

"Mercury's bagged himself Weiss Schnee," Emerald said.

"Way out of your league," Ruth said, and Mercury visibly fought down an urge to punch her. Emerald tried not to laugh. "And you, Emerald? And you, Cinder?"

"I dunno," Emerald shrugged. "I'll find someone."

"I'll probably just go stag," Cinder added. "See what I can turn up at the party."

"With your looks? Oh my, Cinder, the lads will be falling all over themselves for you." Ruth wiggled her eyebrows. "I suppose I should go find meself someone."

"Great idea," Mercury snarled.

Ruth laughed at him. "Y'know, I'll do just that. In the meantime, Mercury Black, you can kiss my Faunus arse." She hopped off the bed, swished her tail at Mercury, and looked at Cinder. "With your leave, Cap'n." Cinder, who was smiling widely at seeing Mercury taken down a peg, nodded. Ruth sketched a salute and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Emerald erupted into laughter, and even Cinder could not suppress a giggle.

"Fuck all of you," Mercury growled.

"You wish!" Emerald replied with a snort.

He scowled and stared at Cinder. "Why is she even here?"

"Because we need her to be the face of Creamer Flight. The more the other pilots and Ozpin pay attention to Ruth Lionheart, the less they pay attention to us."

"She doesn't even know what we're here for," Mercury said. "She's in the dark, and if she finds out, that little goody two shoes will run to Ozpin."

"She won't find out," Cinder assured him. "And if she does, well…then we may have to do something about Flight Officer Lionheart."

Emerald stopped laughing. "If we kill her, her father will blow the lid off us. He'll tell them everything."

"No, he won't," Cinder said. "Leonardo Lionheart won't do a thing. He's a broken man, and I intend to make sure he stays broken."

* * *

_Building 82814 (Base Library)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_25 April 2001_

"Blake?" The voice came from the top of a deep well. Blake heard the voice and began climbing up the ladder, but the ladder just kept getting longer and longer. Vaguely, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Blearily, she opened her eyes and saw blond hair. "Yang?" she whispered.

"Ah, no." Blake's vision cleared and she saw Sun Wukong. He was in his flight suit, and as usual, it was zipped down to his navel. Half-asleep, she reached out and put a hand on those washboard abs. "Yeah, good to see you too, Blake."

Suddenly Blake woke up, and drew back her hand like she'd stuck it in a mousetrap. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Sun."

"That's perfectly okay. In fact, I'll let you keep going." Sun leered at her as he leaned over the table. Spread out in front of Blake—where she had been resting her head—was Weiss' notes on the White Fang's funding, as well as her own report on what she and Yang had learned at Junior's club. She was trying to put them together. Into what, she wasn't sure yet. "What's this stuff?" Sun picked up the page on the Reedy Creek Faunus Youth Ranch. "Oh, hey, I went here once when I was a kid."

Blake snatched it angrily out of his hand. "It's an independent research project."

"Whoa, take it easy."

"I'll take it any way I can. What do you want?" It came out a lot harsher than Blake intended.

Sun hesitated. "Well, there's this dance coming up next week, so I was thinking…" He wondered if he should keep going; normally that sort of cold stare was only seen on a Schnee. "…well, it's lame, but if you and I went together…maybe, not so lame?" Inwardly, Sun kicked himself. Though he liked to portray himself as a ladies' man, beautiful Faunus girls like Blake Belladonna turned him back into the shy teenager he once had been.

Blake gathered her notes. "I don't have time for a stupid dance." She stuffed the notes into a Marine-issue knapsack and stalked out of the library.

"So that's a definite maybe?" Sun called after her.

* * *

"You did _what?"_ Yang shouted as Blake collapsed onto her bed. "You turned down _Sun?_ And his massively toned abs?"

"You're crazy!" Ruby added. "I mean, if he and his abs asked me out, I'd accept in a heartbeat. I don't even have a date yet." Yang didn't say anything to that. One reason why Ruby didn't have a date was because the base was petrified of her older sister, and how many bones might be broken should they make any moves on Lieutenant Rose. "You should go to the dance, Blake."

"I'd rather drink avgas." Blake rolled over in her bed and closed her eyes.

Yang sat down next to her and gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Blakey, we're worried about you. You're holding on way too tight."

Weiss came out of the bathroom, drying her hands. "Yang's right, Blake." She licked her lips. "That tasted strange to say that." She ignored Yang's middle finger. "You're not sleeping well, and you hardly eat."

"I don't care. People's lives are at stake here."

"Blake, we did what we were assigned to do! We know how the White Fang's getting their aircraft, and thanks to Weiss, we know where they're getting the cash!" Yang exclaimed. Weiss sat on her own bed and began doing up her hair, which allowed her to hide her expression. In the notes she had given the others, she had deleted the fact that the White Fang dummy corporations were being funded by her own family. Blake did not need to know that, especially in what was becoming an obsession.

Blake turned back over, her yellow eyes blazing. "We still don't know where Torchwick is! Goodwitch told us yesterday that the Army didn't find anything in Ohio. He's cleared out, and if Junior's right, I bet he used the railroads to go somewhere. He's probably not even in Ohio anymore."

Ruby walked over and knelt down in front of her. "Blake, what's going on? This is going way beyond just being worried about Torchwick." When the Faunus didn't reply, Ruby decided it was time, though she hated to do it. "When I told you about that forward-swept wing aircraft that nearly got Neptune, you turned white as Weiss' panties."

Weiss stopped braiding her hair. "My _what?"_

Ruby went on. "C'mon, Blake. You know who's flying that bird, don't you?" Blake's lips actually curled back into a snarl; her ears, freed of their ribbon, went back in anger. Ruby ignored that, and took Blake's hands into her own. "Please, Blake. We're your friends. You can tell us."

The snarl softened, and the ears drooped in sorrow rather than in anger. Tears welled in her eyes. "I can't…please, Ruby…I can't."

"Blake—" Yang began.

"Yang." Ruby looked up at her sister. "It's okay."

Blake rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry…I know we said no more secrets, but this isn't one…I can talk about."

"Okay, Blake. You can tell us when and if you feel like it." Ruby reached into the dresser and pulled out one of Weiss' monogrammed hankerchiefs, and handed it to Blake. "We're just asking you to take one day off. Have some fun. Forget all of this for one day. How does that sound?"

Blake dried her eyes. "I can't. I just can't."

Yang got to her feet. "You _can't_ do a lot of things. Or _won't_." Weiss and Ruby looked up to her in shock. "I'll be in the library. Maybe Sun and his abs will want to go out with _me._"


	38. All That She Wants

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, this chapter is just mostly comedy. We can't be serious all the time._

_And for those of you who wanted more Renora...done with a vengeance. Yeah, teenage Ren and Nora might have been a little slow to be together-together, but adult Ren and Nora may have other ideas. And Nora's shirt in this chapter should be real.  
_

_Besides being an ode to Renora, this chapter could also be titled The Trials of Ruth Lionheart. Yes, she's an OC, which I have been trying to avoid, but like my other OCs, they are there to push the story along, not to take it away from Team RWBY or JNPR. There is a very good reason that Ruth Lionheart, the daughter of Leonardo, is so prominent here. Her search for a date is loosely based on the short story "Little Red Riding Hood Seeks the Fruit of Love," from the RWBY "Red Like Roses" manga. I picture Ruth as looking like M'Ress from the old Star Trek Animated Series, but that could just be my love for catgirls. (Hi, Blake! Thanks for getting me into RWBY!)_

_I also hope readers will forgive my attempts at British slang (I researched this stuff for an hour the other day), which might make Ruth almost unintelligible to colonial readers. And maybe some British ones, too; I dunno. Note that the use of the dreaded c-word, while akin to launching nuclear missiles in the US, is a lot more common in the UK. Or so I've been told._

* * *

_Building 90414 (Male Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_25 April 2001_

A billow of steam drifted out of the bathroom just ahead of Lie Ren, who came out clad only in a pink towel. Though Ren had been born and raised in China, a visit to Japan had left him with a love for the onsen, Japanese hot springs. It had been difficult to find any since, but he made do by taking showers in temperatures one degree cooler than live steam. It was quite relaxing and was one reason why Ren had a reputation of being unruffled even under the most stressful of situations. Jaune Arc had tried it and came howling out of the shower, so Ren admitted it wasn't for everyone.

Ren was halfway to his closet when he realized he was not alone. He brushed back still-wet black hair and saw Nora Valkyrie. "Oh, hello, Nora." He had given Nora a copy of his room key, in case she ever needed to talk. Given the expression on the pink-haired girl's face—which was like that of a starving glutton confronted with a Thanksgiving turkey—Nora was not there to talk. The fact that she was standing there dressed in an outlandish T-shirt, with an embroidered head-on picture of an A-10 and the words BOOP below the gun, and pink panties decorated with lightning bolts, confirmed Ren's analysis of the situation. "Ah, Nora—"

"Hush, Ren." Nora crossed the space between them in a second. She threw her arms around him and kissed him. Kiss was perhaps too easy of a word: Ren felt more like he was being attacked by a horny octopus, because her hands were everywhere.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked.

"I know I said we're not together-together," she whispered huskily, "but maybe we need to change that."

"We agreed that we shouldn't as long as we were at the exercise—"

"I'm altering our agreement," she growled, nibbling on his earlobe. "Pray I don't alter it any further."

Ren had no idea what had gotten into Nora, but this was something entirely new. They had certainly made out on several occasions, but agreed that anything further than the occasional hands-on situation, as it were, would wait until Vytal Flag was over. Ren would have to return to China, after all, while Nora would be heading back to her home base at Moody AFB, Georgia. Nora planned on getting temporary duty in China, or he would enroll in an exchange program with the USAF, and they could work on their relationship after that time.

Except Nora was clearly in no mood to wait any longer. And feeling Nora's rather ample bosom pressed against his bare chest, clearly only separated by the T-shirt and nothing else, led Ren to decide that ardent renegotiations were indeed necessary. Without further adieu, Ren seized a double handful of Nora's pink-clad derriere, to which she squealed happily.

* * *

What might have happened next would be forever unknown, since Jaune Arc picked that moment to unlock the door and walk in. "Ren, we need to talk! I think I made a big mistake and…." His voice trailed off at the sight in front of him. "…and I think I've made another one."

Nora broke off her kiss to stare at Jaune, with a look that promised imminent cessation of Jaune's bodily functions. "Cockblocker," she hissed murderously.

Ren found he was glad of the interruption. "Nora," he said quietly, in Chinese. The American girl had learned the language. "It's all right. We should stop."

"No!" she insisted. "Dammit, Ren—"

"Nora, we can talk about it later. In any case, I don't have protection. Do you?"

She cursed. She hadn't thought of that either, in the heat of the moment. "Fine." She switched back to English. "You get to live this time, Jaune Arc."

"Nora, Ren…I am really sorry." Jaune turned away and gave them a few moments to get decent. Nora sat down on Ren's bed, still angry, but Ren took the opportunity to slip on some underwear and slacks. "I didn't know."

"Should've left a damn sock on the door," Nora groused.

"Enough, Nora." Ren threw her a peace offering by leaving off his shirt. Though he was not in Sun's league when it came to ripped musculature, he could more than hold his own. Most fighter pilots were in good shape; continual G-forces had a way of building up muscle tone, and it was not unusual for pilots to lose ten pounds of body weight in sweat during a mission. "What's wrong, Jaune?"

Jaune sat on his own bed, staring at the floor. "I fucked up."

"You sure as hell did." This from Nora. Ren made a shushing motion.

"Ren, I'm just going to say it. These last few weeks, you've become one of my best friends, even if you don't say much. I mean, you're really quiet. I don't know all that much about you, really, but dammit, I consider you the brother I never had." He looked up at Nora. "And Nora, you've been like a big sister to me. I have seven sisters, already, but you're like the eighth." Nora's expression softened some.

"Thank you, Jaune. I feel the same way," Ren answered. "So what's going on?"

"I just…don't know…how to…girls," Jaune stammered. Ren raised his eyebrows in confusion. Jaune took a breath. "Okay, here's what happened. I asked Weiss out to the dance."

Nora could not help but grin triumphantly. If she wasn't going to have fun in the bedroom, neither was Jaune. "And she shot you down in flames."

"Worse. She accepted."

"How is that worse?" Ren questioned. Nora looked utterly shocked, which didn't help Jaune's feelings.

"Because Pyrrha wanted to go to the dance with me too. And now I feel like a giant asshole. Pyrrha's been so good to me. Without her, I probably—no, I wouldn't be here. At all. I owe her."

Ren fixed Jaune with a look. He was good at that sort of thing. "Jaune, let's say you convinced Weiss that you made a mistake asking her out—which would probably not be difficult, mind—and then accepted Pyrrha's invitation. Would you be doing so because you like Pyrrha…or because you pity her?"

Nora nodded. "Ren's right, Jaune. If you gave Pyrrha a pity date, she'd know it. And that would break her heart worse than not going with you at all. And then I'd have to break your legs."

Jaune sighed. "I suppose you're right, both of you. Pyrrha said it was okay, but…she just looked so devastated. I wish I'd known."

"She seemed okay when she got back to the dorm last night," Nora said.

"You didn't see her on the flightline. I _do_ like her," Jaune insisted. "I just wish I knew what to do."

At that point, there was a knock on the door. All three looked at each other, but as the knocks grew more insistent, Ren got up to answer it. He opened the door and found himself confronted with all five foot three inches of Ruth Lionheart. Her eyes widened at his chest. "Gor, but that's a tight maconochie."

Ren had no idea what that meant. "Can I help you, Flight Officer Lionheart?" He'd barely met Ruth, but she was one of only two RAF female personnel at Beacon, and the other was Velvet Scarlatina.

Ruth did not answer, but looked beyond him. She took in Nora's state of undress and Ren's, and nodded. "Nothing for me here." Then she spotted Jaune. "Ah! Leftenant Arc! Have you a date for next week's dance? Because if you don't, I'm your twist!"

"Uh…" Jaune had no idea to answer that. In all of his lifetime, he never thought he'd find himself in such high demand. "I think I'm going with Weiss Schnee."

"Or Pyrrha Nikos," Nora put in.

"Or Pyrrha Nikos," Jaune added.

"Hm." Ruth nodded. "Ah, well. Sounds a mite crowded, at that. Thanks anyway!" She looked Ren up and down, and purred. "Too bad." Then she was gone.

"I have no idea what just happened," Ren said.

* * *

Joint Base Beacon would continue to suffer the onslaught of Ruth Lionheart, who went all over the base for a date. She met with no success. Everyone was taken. The speed of which that everyone paired off was impressive; making matters worse for Ruth was that, through a strange twist of fate and personnel assignments, currently women pilots outnumbered male ones at about a ratio of two to one. It was the males who could be choosy. Since the dance would be limited to officers only, it similarly limited her choices, and in any case Ruth wanted to date a fighter pilot like herself. She honestly had no idea what normal people talked about.

With nowhere else to go, she walked down the flightline, and caught sight of Cardin Winchester preflighting his F-15. Though the pilots had the day off, a combat air patrol still needed to be maintained, and Cardinal Flight had drawn the short straw. Ruth had already struck out with the other members of Cardinal, but the sight of Cardin made her mouth water. "Now there's a strapping lad," she told herself, and walked up to him. When Dorothy Baum had first spotted her future husband Leonardo Lionheart, she had taken the direct approach; the daughter took after the mother. "'Ello there, Cap'n!"

Cardin turned at the sound of the voice, and at first saw nothing. Then he looked down. He towered over Ruth, who grinned up at him. "What do you want, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, that would be Flight Officer, actually. As for what I want, Cap'n, ah, Winchester—" she read his nametape "—I was wondering if you'd like to take me to the dance next week."

"I don't date Faunus," he snapped at her.

Ruth had run into enough anti-Faunus bigotry in the United Kingdom to figure out why Cardin had said that. "Oh. So that's a no, then."

"Not just a no, but a _hell_ no."

"Then, with all due respect, Cap'n, you can sod off, you fuckin' cunt." She turned on one heel and walked off. The sheer temerity of her actions left Cardin speechless.

* * *

Ruth ended up in the dispersal area where Creamer Flight was parked. She walked up to her Jaguar. She wished it was painted a little more inventively than RAF light gray. Every aircraft in Creamer was painted gray. "Ah, well," she sighed. "I've been all over this feckin' base, but none of these laddie bucks make me heart flutter." Ruth patted the cool skin of the Jaguar and admired its lines. An older aircraft now, only a few years until it would be retired, but still impressive with its high wing, needle nose, and sleek fuselage. Below the cockpit was painted _Stalwart,_ under a crest of stylized angel wings. It was named after her father's Phantom.

She heard voices and looked across the taxiway. Sun Flight had landed some time before, and had just finished their postflight. Ruth saw no less than four eligible males: the dusky and handsome Sage Ayana, the rakishly handsome Scarlet David, the certainly not unattractive Neptune Vasillas, and the exceedingly good looking Sun Wukong. It was a veritable international smorgasbord for the unattached female, and Ruth homed on Sun like a laser-guided bomb.

"'Ello there!" she greeted him as she walked across the taxiway.

Sun turned and waved. "Hello! You must be Ruth Lionheart. Always good to meet a fellow Faunus."

"Certainly so! So you want to pop over with me to the gay and hearty?"

Sun and Neptune looked very confused, while Sage and Scarlet erupted in laughter. "She wants to know if you want to go with her to the dance," Sage translated.

"That's what I said," Ruth said.

"Er, no," Sun told her. She was certainly cute, but she was no Blake Belladonna. "I have a date with Blake." That was by no means confirmed, but Sun was not going to give up.

"Bloody hell." She turned to Sage. "And you, sir?"

"Sorry, Flight Officer. You're an hour late." He had already asked a shy but agreeable Velvet.

"Bollocks! _Ma koreh?"_ she asked Scarlet. He was surprised that the Faunus girl had asked him what was up in colloquial Hebrew, but he shook his head. "I'm very sorry, Flight Officer, but I'm not into girls."

"What? Oh. _Oh."_ Ruth understood. Finally she looked at Neptune. "Well?"

Neptune wasn't sure about being last on Ruth's list of potential dates, but no one had asked him yet. He had his eye on Weiss, but base rumors—the fastest form of communication known to man—had it on good authority that the younger Schnee was dating Jaune Arc, which was momentous on its own. With Weiss taken, it was either Ruth or Cinder Fall, and frankly he found himself liking the spunky Faunus. "Hell, why not?" He took her hand and bowed over it, planting a kiss. "I would be honored to take you to this year's Beacon Spring Formal, Flight Officer Lionheart."

She grinned. "Well, squeeze the wombats. Thank you, Lieutenant Vasillas." She then executed a curtsey to Sun Flight in general, and skipped off.

"This is one weird base," Scarlet sighed.


	39. Spending Time in Preparation

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I had the choice of posting a really short chapter or a fairly long one. So we're going with the long one._

_With the exception of Ironwood, the first third with the 1st Armored Division is all OCs (though Miguel Calavera has a clear connection to canon RWBY). There's a little in-joke here to those who've read my Battletech Snowbird short stories, along with a tribute to the guy who has probably left more reviews on my stories-all of them-than anyone else on the planet. "Brigadier General Katsuragi" is a reference to Evangelion, of course._

_The last two-thirds is pretty much all Bumblebee, with Yang and Blake. And if you ever wanted to see these two go at it in the air, this chapter is for you! And I'm not going to apologize for stealing a line from Guardians of the Galaxy._

* * *

_Headquarters, 1__st__ Armored Division_

_Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, United States of America_

_26 April 2001_

"So those are our dispositions, General Ironwood. The 1st Brigade is centered around Menomonie, the 2nd around La Crosse, and the 3rd around Prairie du Chien."

Ironwood peered closer at the map spread out on the long table. "Forgive me for asking, General Calavera, but aren't you abandoning northern Iowa? You've got nothing there but the regular border units."

"No worries, sir." Major General Miguel Calavera smiled. "You see, if the GRIMM should assault straight south into Iowa, the Eberle Line should hold them long enough for the 2nd and 3rd Brigades to cross the Mississippi and strike them in the flank. I'm having additional bridging units being deployed in case of that problem. And of course we could rely on the additional aircraft coming into Beacon for the Vytal Flag festival for airstrikes, and the four B-52s you have at O'Hare."

"Six," Ironwood corrected. He had brought up two more B-52s for insurance. He inspected the map again. The plan for the defense of the Mississippi Barrier had been the same since the 1970s. The covering forces in the fortifications would hold as long as possible, calling in airstrikes until reinforcements could be brought forward. The US Army practiced rapid deployments every year, though moving an entire armored division forward had not been done in a decade. Large GRIMM assaults happened about once or twice a year, and every time the Barrier had bent but never broken. It was supposed to be flexible. For the twentieth time, Ironwood told himself that they were doing the right thing, that the largest Vytal Flag in years would be too tempting of a target to pass up. The 1st Armored was a deterrent, one that even _she_ would be reluctant to assault. He mentally cursed himself: it wasn't as if even thinking Salem's name would summon her. Ozpin was getting to him.

Besides, if worse came to absolute worse, there was always the Fall Maiden.

"Very well, General—this looks good." It felt odd approving the plans of a US Army general, but despite Calavera being Army and Ironwood Air Force, the latter had been handed command of the Vale Sector. In any case, Ironwood found himself liking Calavera: the general was just a shade over five feet, but built like a fire hydrant, who looked like he enjoyed wrestling alligators. His men and women loved him, and would charge the gates of hell for him—which reminded Ironwood of someone. "How is your grandmother these days?"

"_Abuela?_" Calavera laughed. "Planning a trip to Europe. She doesn't let anything slow her down."

"I thought she was permanently banned from flying into Europe."

"You think a little thing like a travel ban is going to stop the Grimm Reaper?"

Ironwood laughed as well. Maria Calavera was a legend in the flying community; she probably knew more ways into Europe than anyone in the world. "I'll leave you to it then, General."

The two men shook hands, but before Ironwood could leave, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," Calavera called out, and an orderly stuck his head in. "General Calavera, there's a Captain Bighorn-Vlata to see you." The orderly paused. "She doesn't have an appointment, but she insisted on seeing you."

Calavera shrugged. "Show her in, Lieutenant." To Ironwood, he said in explanation, "Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata. She commands Team Alpha in 2nd Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment. One of my up and coming team commanders."

Ironwood turned as a tall, raven-haired woman walked in. She came to attention and saluted. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Captain Bighorn-Vlata. This is a bit irregular," Calavera told her. "I meant it when I said my door was always open, but I also would like it if you made an appointment."

"My apologies, sir. It's just…hardly anyone will listen. I went to battalion, then to regiment. Battalion wouldn't listen, but Colonel Ridinghood told me to come straight to you."

Calavera raised an eyebrow. "Bypassing the chain of command, Captain?"

"Sir. Colonel Ridinghood would be here as well, but he's up in Menomonie today. And he recommended bypassing brigade with this."

The general leaned against his table, and gestured to Bighorn-Vlata. "Since you've decided to risk your career, I'd be a fool to ignore you." The captain glanced at Ironwood, but Calavera held up a hand. "Anything you say to me can be said in front of General Ironwood, Captain. He's _my_ superior officer."

"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Bighorn-Vlata moved forward to the map. "May I, sir?" Calavera nodded. She put a finger on La Crosse. "Sir, two nights ago, a train crossed the Mississippi here, into the Minnesota Dead Zone. A freight train of some sort."

"That would be very unusual, Captain, considering that the train bridge at La Crosse has been closed for thirty-five years," Calavera said.

"Actually, sir, it's only been fifteen." At his expression, Bighorn-Vlata quickly added, "I did some research, General. Back in the mid-80s, a bunch of settlers tried to rebuild a suburb of St. Paul—Cottage Grove, it used to be called, but the settlers renamed it Mountain Glenn."

Ironwood came to rescue of the captain. "She's right, General. I remember the Mountain Glenn settlement. It was part of President Reagan's 'Tear Down The Wall' initiative, where we would start retaking parts of the Dead Zones." He looked at Bighorn-Vlata. "It worked in some places, but not Mountain Glenn. The people there lasted for about a year until they were overrun by GRIMM. Captain Ozpin over at Beacon—well, he was Commander Ozpin then—he helped cover the survivors. Not that there were many to rescue." He motioned at the captain. "Sorry to interrupt, miss."

"No worries, sir. The settlers used the railroad to resupply themselves. It was in better shape than the road network. The bridge was closed after Mountain Glenn was destroyed, but according to the locals, it's occasionally still used. By smugglers."

"I'd heard rumors about that." Calavera traced the old rail line on the map to Mountain Glenn. It was not listed on the map, but then again, only major ruin sites in the Minnesota Dead Zone were. "How did you know about the train?"

"A few of my personnel saw it around 0300, and reported it to me. By the time I got to the bridge, it was gone, and the locals said I was crazy. So did Major Katsuragi at Battalion. But I'm telling you, sir, that bridge was used. I went out on it and looked around. Someone's been maintaining it!"

"Calm down, Captain; I believe you." Calavera rubbed his mustache. "Well, it wouldn't surprise me. Like I said, I've heard about smugglers running illegal trains through the Dead Zones. It's not as hard as it sounds. Probably the locals were bribed. How big did your guys say the train was?"

"They said it was as big as some of our divisional trains, sir. Container cars and boxcars. They couldn't see inside."

"Very well." Calavera nodded to Bighorn-Vlata. "I'll look into it, Captain. Next time, though, don't jump the chain of command like that. Brigadier General Johnson is a good man—he would've listened to you or Ridinghood. Dismissed." They exchanged salutes, and the captain left.

* * *

"Interesting woman. She reminds me of someone," Ironwood remarked, thinking of Winter Schnee.

"She'll probably get her own regiment someday, if she doesn't get killed, but she'll never go beyond lieutenant colonel. Speaks her mind too much." Calavera ran his hand over the map again. "Still, I believe her. She's reliable—so is Colonel Ridinghood. Katsuragi I'm not sure about. Likes the bottle a bit too much." He picked up a pencil and scrawled _Mountain Glenn_ on the map site. "It's probably just someone running crap up to Canada through the Dead Zone. Crazy with all the GRIMM that are supposedly around. Which we haven't seen." He turned back to Ironwood. "What do you think, General?"

Ironwood shrugged. "Like you said, just smugglers. Still, I could have Ozpin run a recon mission over Mountain Glenn. It wouldn't hurt."

"With Vytal Flag?"

"The training started weeks ago. The big training missions that everyone's watching on TV—which I think is a terrible idea, I might add—won't start until week after next, after the big dance." At Calavera's questioning expression, Ironwood said, "Tradition. Beacon usually has a spring formal. You're invited, of course."

"Never been much of a dancer." Calavera laughed. "Besides, my wife is still in Texas. She'd have my balls in a wheelbarrow if I danced with anyone but her."

* * *

_Building 71414 (Base Headquarters, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_27 April 2001_

"Lieutenant Blake Belladonna, reporting as ordered, ma'am." Blake came to attention before Glynda Goodwitch's desk.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." Unlike Ozpin, who preferred a more traditional office, Goodwitch had a stand-up desk. Blake wondered to herself if she had ever seen the other woman sitting down. "We have a mission for you." She gave Blake a once-over. "If you feel up to it. With all due respect, Lieutenant, you look like hell."

Blake knew she did. She had looked in the mirror that morning and been shocked at her appearance. While she was still very squared away as far as regulations went, there was no amount of makeup that could cover the sunken eyes and pale face. When she had gotten out of the shower, Blake had noticed that she could see her ribs: she had always been thin, but never like this. She was living on caffeine and whatever food ended up in the dorm room refrigerator, but what choice did she have? "I'm all right, Colonel."

"Very well. We don't have anyone qualified for reconnaissance missions here at the base, except you and Flying Officer Scarlatina, and her Tornado isn't equipped with a camera pod. We still have the TARPS pod you used over Cleveland, so we're sending you back out again, today."

Blake felt the fear well up in her throat. If they were going to send her over Cleveland again, that meant Torchwick, and Torchwick meant Adam. She clenched her fists to stop them trembling. Goodwitch noticed. "Are you _sure_ you're all right, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's just that…that last mission to Cleveland was a little, er, hair-raising."

"You flew through a thunderstorm. I should think it was fucking terrifying." Blake found herself smiling at Goodwitch's remark, which was the Colonel's intention. Goodwitch rarely swore. "And you nearly got shot down by Roman Torchwick, so that would also be a little disconcerting." She reached into the desk and handed Blake a sheet of paper. "Nothing too bad this time, Lieutenant. We just need you to do a recon run over the Twin Cities. Apparently a smuggler train managed to get across the Mississippi at La Crosse the other day, and it's got the Army upset. I sincerely doubt you'll find anything but ruins, but we have to please General Ironwood." She could not keep the contempt out of her voice. "Should be a milk run, Lieutenant. I'm almost ashamed to order you to do it."

Blake nodded. "To be honest, ma'am, a milk run sounds like what I need right now."

Goodwitch returned the nod. "I know, right? Sometimes you just need to get up there and fly around a little to get it out of your system." The Colonel turned a little pink, as if embarrassed to show that she was human after all. "You might as well leave as soon as you can, Lieutenant. You've already been cleared. I've got you an escort as well—nobody flies alone over the Dead Zones."

"Yes, ma'am." Blake had hoped she could get some alone time in the air—it would probably be helpful to clear her head—but Goodwitch was right: if she ran into GRIMM over the Minnesota Dead Zone, alone, even Beowolves could swamp her quickly. "Who's the escort?"

Goodwitch gave her a quizzical look. "I should think it was obvious, Lieutenant. Your wingman—or wingperson, or whatever PC term we're using these days. Captain Long."

* * *

Blake found Yang waiting for her at the _Gambol Shroud._ She was leaning up against the F-14, arms folded, aviator sunglasses on, legs crossed in an I-don't-give-a-shit attitude. "What's up?" she greeted Blake.

"Hi." Blake really hoped Yang wasn't here for an argument. The two had barely exchanged more than five words in the past two days.

"Doubt we'll find anything up there, but I'm groomed for GRIMM just in case." Yang pointed across to _Ember Celica,_ which was festooned with AMRAAMs. _Gambol Shroud_ was carrying two AMRAAMs and two Sidewinders, plus the TARPS camera pod nestled between the engines.

"Okay. That's good."

Yang evidently figured out she wasn't going to get anything else out of Blake, so she merely said "See you up there," pushed off the F-14 and walked over to her own aircraft. Blake watched her go, shook herself, then began her preflight.

* * *

They took off into the afternoon sunlight ten minutes later. Yang slid into a covering position off Blake's right wing, and other than routine checking in with Pinetree, the Vale Air Defense Sector ground controller, they said nothing to each other. It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the ruins of the Twin Cities.

Blake checked the notes in her kneepad. _All right,_ she thought to herself, _I'm supposed to make two high level camera runs over this Mountain Glenn place._ She reached forward and checked her map display, then her altimeter. She was at 25,000 feet, and throttled back. There was no reason to speed past this. One glance at her RWR display showed nothing. "Beginning my run, east to west."

"Roger. I'm high and right. No threats," Yang reported. She was seeing nothing as well.

Blake made a leisurely run over Mountain Glenn. Looking through the TCS camera slung under the F-14's nose, she saw the ground below. There was a two lane road that was fairly clear of debris running through it, and a railroad paralleling the road; the railroad split off into a small railyard. There were the ruins of a refinery at the northwest end of the town, with a black streak running directly east. _The nuke going off must've touched off the refinery with the heat pulse. The fire would've burned out of control. _Blake shuddered at the thought of what kind of horror a nuclear explosion would unleash. She noticed a small airfield across the Mississippi River, in what would have been South St. Paul.

She turned around and made another run, this time slightly lower at 20,000 feet. Once more, she saw nothing but ruins. "Yang," she radioed, "I don't know if the pod is getting anything, but I can't see much from up here. I'm going to make a third run at low level."

There was no response at first, but Yang finally said, "Roger. Be careful."

Blake made a gentle turn back onto a northwesterly course, then suddenly raked back the Tomcat's wings and roared down to five thousand feet. She pulled out of the dive, chopped the throttle back, and flew just as leisurely at low level as she had at high altitude. Above her, Yang felt her throat tighten: Blake was asking to get shot down. She couldn't make a better target.

But nothing happened. Once more, Blake reached the end of her run. She climbed back to 25,000 feet, switched off the TARPS pod, and set course back towards Beacon.

"Hey, Blake," Yang called out once they were back across the Mississippi. "You want to hassle? I got plenty of fuel."

"Not really."

"Too bad. Beacon Control, this is Yang. Do we have clear airspace? Blake and I want to do a little 1V1 training."

"Yang—" Blake protested.

"Yang, Beacon Control. Roger that, your airspace is clear. No traffic in your area for awhile…I can give you about 30 minutes of playtime."

"Sierra hotel, Beacon." Blake watched as the F-15 suddenly rolled out of her field of view. Instinctively, Blake craned her head around to follow as Yang dropped in behind the Tomcat's twin tails. "I think we should make a bet. If you lose, you come to the dance. If you win, I will go to the dance in my underwear."

"Yang, that's—"

"Fight's on!" Blake heard her RWR scream for her attention as Yang locked on. She snapped the stick to the right and dived, breaking the lock. "Yang, I don't—" As Blake dived and began to pull out, the RWR screeched for her attention again as Yang reacquired in the dive. "All right, dammit," Blake snarled. "You want a fight, you got it, bitch." A quick glance at the altimeter, and she threw _Gambol Shroud_ into a split-S, rolling out at six thousand feet going away. Her finger hovered over the holographic decoy switch, but she pulled back. She was going to kill Yang on her own.

Blake climbed for two seconds, then rolled out into level flight, eyes searching for her foe. As she had anticipated, Yang had not followed her through the split-S, but was coming around to catch her at low level, where the F-15's radar was excellent. She saw Blake at the same time and turned hard: now both women were heading straight at each other, head on. Blake set up her gunsight for a gun pass, but Yang was past before either could get more than a second. By the unofficial rules of hassling, one had to hold their opponent in the center of the gunsight, the pipper, for three seconds—the time a missile would take to hit in real life.

Straining against the Gs, Blake pulled back into a turn, and knew Yang would do the same. Sure enough, her opponent was also turning back into her. They crossed paths, then reversed their turns, ending up in a horizontal scissors. Both women gasped into their oxygen masks and grunted when the G-suits squeezed them, keeping blood in their brains; sweat began to bead under their helmets, and eyes strained to keep the other person in sight. Each cheated the turn tighter, dropped the throttles back a small amount every turn, each trying to force the other out in front. Blake grinned savagely, caught up in the hunt despite herself: her F-14, without the amount of missiles or fuel Yang was carrying on her F-15, was actually lighter. She would get in behind _Ember Celica_ before Yang would get behind her.

They competed their eighth crossover, and Blake noticed that she almost was behind the F-15. _One more pass, and I've got her!_ She pushed the stick into her left knee, stepped on the left rudder pedal, and even opened her speedbrake a smidgen, bleeding off more speed and getting dangerously close to a stall. Blake waited for Yang to make a perfect spreadeagled shot in her gunsight.

Except the F-15 was not there. Yang had not turned into her. "Where the hell…" Blake said. She leveled out for a moment, searching frantically for her foe.

"_Takka takka takka!"_ Yang shouted, the old call of a fighter pilot in a fake gun pass. At the same time, her Tomcat's RWR screeched again, letting Blake know she was locked on. Blake suddenly realized what Yang had done: she had broken off from the scissors, climbed, and waited for Blake to fly right into a trap. The semi-stealthy design of the_ Gambol Shroud_ did not really help at this range; Yang could kill her visually. She tried to turn, but the F-14 would not respond fast enough. She was out of energy: Blake had expended too much in the scissors. Three seconds later, and it was over. Blake almost cursed, then sighed, went to level flight again, and waggled her wings in surrender. She reached out and patted the instrument panel. "Not your fault," she told her aircraft.

* * *

Yang dropped down to fly parallel. "Blake, go channel three. Beacon, we're leaving Guard channel for a bit." Without knowing why, Blake made the radio switch. Channel three was a more discreet frequency; no one should be listening. "You receiving this channel?"

"Five-square. You got me, Yang. I guess I'll go to the damn dance." Blake was a lot of things, would do a lot of things, but she would not break her word.

"That's awesome, but not what I wanted to talk about. Now that I've got a captive audience, anyway. You need to slow down, Blake."

"Slowing down just got me killed, Yang."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't have the luxury of slowing down."

"Like hell you don't. C'mon, Blake. I don't mind waxing your ass up here, but it doesn't mean a damn thing when you're not at your best. You're exhausted, you haven't been eating much, you're burning the candle at both ends. In short, Blake, you're being an asshole." Blake had to smile at that. "How's your fuel?"

"Plenty, but I really don't feel like fighting you again." Her heart was still pounding from the short dogfight, and Blake had to admit Yang had a point. Normally she would not feel so tired, even after that kind of exertion.

"Not my plan. Just wanted to tell you a story." Yang paused, and Blake could see her checking the air around them. They were approaching Lake Michigan and Door County, so Yang began a gentle turn to the left; Blake let her have the lead and followed.

"So Ruby and I grew up in Patch. It's in North Carolina. Our parents were fighter pilots, of course. Dad was USAF, and he taught at Signal. Mom was a Huntress; she flew long-distance missions against the GRIMM out of Kirtland and Ellsworth. Her name was Summer Rose…and she was like, Supermom or something. She'd go fly a 12-hour mission, fly six hours back to us, then bake cookies when she got home. That was Summer: she was more proud of her cookies than the fact that she had shot down more GRIMM than anyone in the USAF, with the exception of the ol' Grimm Reaper, Maria Calavera.

"And then, one day…she didn't come back." Blake heard the emotion in Yang's voice. She wished she could reach out of the canopy, across the half-mile that separated, and touch her friend's hand. "It was tough. Ruby was really torn up, but she was still pretty little; she didn't really get what had happened. Dad just sort of shut down for awhile. It wasn't too long before I learned why: Summer Rose was his _second_ wife. His first was my mother."

_That explains it,_ thought Blake. Though there were noticeable similarities between the sisters, there were far more differences. "Who was the first?" Blake knew it was not really any of her business, but curiosity won out.

"Dad wouldn't tell me everything, but I learned her name: Raven. She had been in the same squadron, hell, the same _flight_ as Dad and our uncle Qrow. They got married, and then Raven up and hauled ass after I was born. Summer came over to help him with baby me, and one thing led to another, and they got married."

Blake checked their spacing. They were fine, and the sky was still clear. "Why did she leave you?"  
"Beats the hell out of me, but I damn sure wanted to know why. I still do. It was all I thought about. I would ask everyone. I became a huge pain in everyone's ass. One day, I found a clue—or I thought it was. Dad was out, so I put Ruby—all of three years old Rubes—in a wagon, and just set out.

"I walked for hours. Ruby fell asleep. I was about there with her. It started snowing, and of course we got lost. And we weren't dressed for the weather. I was exhausted. We were freezing. But I kept going. I didn't care even when I couldn't feel my toes. I put my coat around Ruby to keep her warm. I didn't care if I died later, just as long as I found where my mom was. Just a stupid kid lost in the Great Smoky Mountains, and taking her sister out with her. Luckily, Uncle Qrow found us. I spent the night in the hospital from exposure. Turns out I'd been going in circles; we were only about six miles from the house. My stubbornness should've got both of us killed that night."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Yang," Blake said with sincerity, "and I know what you're trying to tell me. But this is different. I'm not a child—"

"Then quit acting like one. I don't want you to stop, Blake! I still look for my mother. That's why I was at Junior's the time I got into the fight there. I thought he could tell me. I'm going to find her someday, Blake. And you're going to stop the White Fang—with our help. But not at the price of destroying ourselves in the process."

"You don't understand, Yang."

Yang suddenly closed the distance to a quarter of a mile, causing Blake to sheer off. "Knock it off, Blake! If Roman Torchwick bounced us right now, what would you do?"

"I'd smoke his ass!" Blake shouted.

"Like you smoked _my_ ass, just a minute ago?" Yang let the sentence hang in the air for a moment. "Blake, you're a damn fine fighter pilot. You and Sun went up against a skyful of White Fang and outfought them. You got the most advanced plane in the inventory right now. You flew through a fucking thunderstorm to get those pictures over Cleveland. But you keep not sleeping, and not eating, and keep hanging your ass out, and it's going to get shot off. You going to stop the Fangers when you're dead? Huh? All you're going to get is a Sidewinder up your cute little Faunus tush and a nice flag for your mama and papa. If that's what you want, then they need to Section 8 your ass to the funny farm."

Blake met Yang's lilac eyes, across the sky. Yang was right. In her mind's eye, she could see her father and mother, next to a grave, being handed a flag by a solemn Marine—her father, trying to remain stoic, while her mother dissolved into tears. Would there even be a body? She did not want to ask Yang if they had gotten Summer Rose's body back. If she had been shot down, there would not be much left. Once, at Patuxent River, Blake had helped with a crash investigation of a F-18. There had been nothing left of the pilot but a blackened, carbonized skeleton; they had identified him by the wedding and class rings fused to his left hand. "Okay," she said to Yang. "Okay."

"That's more like it. Now fall into trail, Marine. Let's head back to the barn before Beacon starts wondering what the hell we're circling northern Wisconsin for."

"Yes, sir," Blake responded, which caused Yang to laugh. Yang had a dirty laugh, Blake thought, but it was one she liked hearing.

"Hey, Yang?" Blake asked, before they switched back to the regular radio channel.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about your mother leaving you like that. Your real one, Raven."

"I appreciate that, Blake. I'm not sure about the real part. Raven may have been my mother, but Summer was my mama."


	40. White Wedding

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A chapter for the bad guys, and some background on the fate of "Mountain Glenn" in this world. Neo does talk in this AU, but only because she couldn't be a pilot if she couldn't. She just talks very little._

_"Wedding Party" was also al-Qaeda's codename for the 9/11 attack. "Future Warrior" did exist, but I believe the US Army largely abandoned it to cut costs. (For those of you who are fans of the book of "World War Z," Future Warrior played a detrimental part in the Battle of Yonkers. It doesn't look too good here, either.)_

_Please drop off some reviews if you like the story! This is how we author types keep going._

* * *

_Mountain Glenn_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_27 April 2001_

Roman Torchwick came out of the culvert. The fresh breeze from the south felt good, as did stretching his legs. While the F-14 had made its passes overhead, he and Neo Politan had been forced to take cover in an old culvert. It was cozy, but romance was the last thing on either person's mind. If the Tomcat had seen either one of them, it would have at the least brought in a Ranger team to figure out why there were people moving around somewhere that was supposed to be deserted.

"Damn. We'll have to wait until after dark, Neo. If the wind doesn't shift." She nodded. Hidden under trees were the last four cars of the train, which contained the wreckage of Neo's Sea Harrier. Unlike Torchwick's aircraft, which was at the bottom of Lake Erie, hers was still repairable. There were still four MiGs left to unload as well. "I guess we'd better get back underground."

"Yuk," Neo commented.

"Better than letting the whole world know that we're here." Roman motioned for her to follow. They walked across the deserted railyard, where abandoned railcars quietly rusted away, some already frozen into the tracks. They picked up the pace as the wind began to shift; if it began blowing in from the north, there was the danger of radiation. Unlike Cleveland, where almost all the radiation had dissipated, Minneapolis-St. Paul had been hit by a ground burst nuclear warhead, this one with a dirty warhead laced with strontium-90. Even today, going into ground zero without full body protection would kill in an hour or less. Dust from the north was impregnated with radioactivity.

They found what looked to be an abandoned loading dock. Torchwick rapped on the rusted steel doors—upon closer inspection, one would find the rust to be paint. The door creaked open, just enough for Roman and Neo to duck under it.

There was a White Fang guard standing next to the door. He wore casual clothes, but the White Fang's white jerkin over them, decorated with the snarling head emblem. "Sienna Khan wants to see you," the guard rumbled, and tossed them flashlights.

"Thanks," Roman replied, and switched on his light. Neo gave the guard a murderous look and followed her lover into the stygian darkness of Mountain Glenn.

* * *

Roman knew the story behind the place. In the 1980s, a man named Glenn Faust had been given permission to move 2500 men, women and children into the Minnesota Dead Zone, in an effort to take some of it back. Faust had been warned that he would be better off rehabilitating one of the smaller abandoned cities along the Mississippi, like Winona or Wabasha, where one or two families still held on. Faust, however, was a proud man, and wanted the big score; in any case, his family had been from St. Paul, and rebuilding there was a personal obsession. They had settled in Cottage Grove, and for the first year, despite the radiation, had done well enough: they rebuilt houses, cleared streets, repaired the railroad, and were even able to reopen parts of the destroyed refinery to supply them with fuel to run the generators. That gave them electricity. Farms with protective screens against radioactive dust were opened to make them self-sufficient. The grateful and determined settlers had renamed Cottage Grove Mountain Glenn after their founder.

Without GRIMM, Mountain Glenn would have been a success story, but the GRIMM were drawn to the settlement like moths to a flame. After six months of being left alone, the attacks had begun—the Beowolves and Ursa were bad enough, but it was the ground-based Boarbatusks and Goliaths that threatened to overrun Mountain Glenn. With JRB Beacon committed to fighting off GRIMM attacks nearly every day, the US government advised Faust to evacuate the settlement, but he refused—and he had anticipated that the day would come. Even as half his settlers had begun clearing the mildewed, destroyed houses and debris-strewn roads, the other half had been digging into the hillsides above the Mississippi. They had built deep bunkers that stretched below Mountain Glenn, beneath the settlement and the abandoned but still usable railyard. When Faust got the evacuation order, he ignored it and told his people that they would stay, as their ancestors had refused to leave their homes in the face of tribal attacks on the Great Plains. He told anyone who wanted to leave to do so. Three families—about 35 people—had left and been evacuated to La Crosse. The rest retreated underground, closed the doors, and let the GRIMM have their way with the ruins above. Below, there was enough food for a year, and power drawn from the generators, and air filtered in through elaborate baffles that were unseen to the GRIMM. Mountain Glenn was safe, and if the rest of the United States wrote them off, that was fine with Glenn Faust and his people.

Unfortunately, Roman reflected to himself as they made their way down the long, gradual ramp in the darkness, Mountain Glenn was not safe. Someone had left open a door, or had been outside at the wrong time, or perhaps the GRIMM just had their ways of sniffing out sentient beings. In any case, the doors had been smashed down, unleashing a horde of GRIMM into Mountain Glenn's bunkers. The inhabitants had died to almost a man, making their last stand in the dark hallways and rooms. It had taken weeks, but Mountain Glenn was no more, the people's battle forgotten along with the settlement itself.

Except for Roman Torchwick. A handful of people had managed to escape, and in Junior Xiong's bar, as a young thief just beginning to form his air pirate gang, Roman talked to an old man who told him the story of Mountain Glenn. On a hunch, he slipped past the barrier—it was simple to do so, as the US Army defenders were not ordered to stop people from committing suicide—and made his way to Mountain Glenn. Inside, he found a charnel house of corpses, but to his pleasant surprise, the bunkers were intact. GRIMM were only interested in killing people, not loot, and most of the underground rooms were intact. Power was even still on in spots, and even much of the food was edible. As Roman was already planning on setting up in the Ohio Dead Zone, he did not use Mountain Glenn, but occasionally would send some of his gang over to check on the place, repair the doors, and keep it as an emergency hidey-hole. It was too close to the Barrier and Beacon to really be used, but it was always good to have, and the place was impregnable—as long as it wasn't found.

They came to another door, and once more Roman rapped on it, using the flashlight. This door opened fully, because unlike the first, outer door, the power was still on here. Light flooded the passageway, making Roman and Neo blink, and they walked into the central warren of Mountain Glenn. The area had been designed by the long-dead Glenn Faust as a storage area for vehicles, and it was still serving that purpose: there were twelve MiG-21s parked inside, along with eight F-5s, and two other aircraft under tarps. One was Adam Taurus's swept wing craft, which he called _Wilt_; Roman thought it was a stupid name, not nearly as exciting as his old Sea Harrier's name, _Melodic Cudgel,_ or Neo's, simply named _Hush._ _Wilt_ just did not sound particularly threatening. The other was a secret Roman was keeping.

The giant warren, the size of a large warehouse, was a beehive of activity and noise, as both White Fang and Torchwick Gang personnel restored the aircraft to flight readiness. Others were unboxing supplies. Roman had planned to stay here for awhile, at least until things blew over and the Vytal Flag tournament ended. Now he wondered if that would even be possible. He had a few other hiding places, but very few, and none as well-hidden.

* * *

They made their way across the warren to one of the rooms off the side. It had been Glenn Faust's home and office, but it was centrally located and made a perfect headquarters. When Roman opened the door, the sight of Sienna Khan and Adam Taurus was no longer a surprise, even the sinister mask Adam wore. The third person in the room was a surprise, however: he was an older man, with gray hairs at his temple and a thick mustache.

"It took you long enough," Sienna snapped.

"In case they didn't tell you," Roman replied, "we just got overflown by a F-14. Three times."

Adam instantly was riveted on Roman. "What color was it?"

"Black. The same one that was at Cleveland. I think I saw a F-15 holding high as well; probably an escort. My guess would be it was the same one who made me take a swim in Lake Erie."

Adam rubbed his chin in thought with his left hand; Roman noticed the right gripping the hilt of his sword, worn Japanese style. He had to admit he liked Adam's style, if nothing else. "Very interesting," Adam said. "I know who flies that aircraft."

"Friend of yours?" Roman asked.

"Depends on which one of us you ask."

"Ex-girlfriend?" Neo smiled.

Adam laughed. "As a matter of fact, yes." He returned Neo's smile. "Women do have a sense for these things, don't they?"

"If we're done with the encounter group," Sienna snarled, "I'd like to get on with this. Torchwick, do you think they spotted us?"

Roman shook his head. "Right then? No. The Tomcat did make a rather low pass, but Neo and I were the only ones above ground, and we hid in a culvert. When they develop the film, it might be a different story, especially if they figure out it was us that crossed the river at La Crosse."

"I knew we couldn't trust those damn humans!" Sienna exclaimed, forgetting that she and Adam were the only Faunus in the room. "Those planes weren't here by coincidence. Someone in La Crosse talked."

"Money only goes so far," Roman admitted.

"Yes, it does. And now your hideout, impressive as it is, Torchwick, has been compromised."

"Not necessarily," said the older man, with a hint of a British accent. "If it was, it would have been more than two aircraft. It would have been a strike force. And even if the photographs show the train on the siding, the train has been broken into components. More than likely, the photo interpreters will see the remnant of an old train and assume it was one either abandoned when the Twin Cities were destroyed or when Mountain Glenn was overrun." He smoothed his mustache. "People believe what they want to believe, after all."

"And speaking of not trusting humans," Roman said, thumbing at the mustachioed man, "who the hell is this?"

Before Sienna could answer, the man did so for her. "Ah, manners. My name is Arthur Watts. _Doctor_ Arthur Watts, formerly of British Aerospace, Eurofighter, and Schnee GmbH. Mostly the latter." He gave a short, proper bow. "A pleasure to meet the famous air pirate Roman Torchwick." Roman bowed back; he admitted to himself that he didn't mind flattery.

"Dr. Watts comes to us from the same patron that Cinder Fall did," Sienna said, with an aside glance at him. "He's an expert in computers and aerospace design."

"Oh, excellent," Roman remarked. "Then he can fix up Neo's old Sea Harrier."

Watts' eyebrows raised. "A Sea Harrier, you say? How quaint. It would be a pleasure, really."

Sienna sighed. "I don't suppose we could get back to our plan, could we? If we're not about to be blown apart by the United States Air Force, that is."

"I think the good doctor's right," Roman told her. "We should be all right. But no flying, obviously." He motioned at Sienna. "Proceed, Miss Khan."

"Why, thank you," Sienna replied with heavy sarcasm. She unrolled a map, using Watts' humidor and clip to hold down one end; Adam used his sword to hold down the other. "I expect all of you to keep this very quiet. Especially you two." She looked at Roman and Neo. "Here is the plan for our assault on Beacon."

"It really should have an operation name," Adam remarked. "We'll have to come up with something appropriate." He chuckled as inspiration struck. "Wedding Party."

Sienna actually smiled. "Hmm. Oddly enough, I rather like that." She returned her attention to the map. "Very well, then—Operation Wedding Party.

"In a few nights, Beacon will be having its Spring Formal Dance. Cinder Fall and her team will use the party as cover to plant a virus in Beacon's computer system."

"The virus is something I came up with, called Black Queen," Watts said. "In an effort to improve interservice cooperation, the US military has developed a linked system called Future Warrior. It allows US Air Force, Navy and Army computers to talk to each other, essentially. It also allows them to datalink targeting information with DUST. An Army tank commander, for instance, could lase a target. Future Warrior would transmit the target's location to overhead aircraft and other tanks, DUST would allow independent targeting and quick reaction. Good news…but it also means that Black Queen, once implanted into one system, will quickly affect all of them. Using the virus, I could, in theory, command any aircraft with DUST systems, or tanks with Future Warrior, to fire on each other. Quite the force multiplier, eh, Mr. Torchwick?"

"I'm liking what I hear so far," Roman said. Neo clapped her hands, only half-sarcastically.

"Dr. Watts will activate Black Queen on May 8," Sienna continued. "Or sooner, if some reason we're discovered before then. We will link up the train again, but this time, instead of ourselves, our aircraft, and our supplies, it will be filled with high explosives. The tank cars will be full of gasoline. The train will be run at normal speed down the river, but once on the La Crosse bridge, it will be run up to full speed. It will likely derail once it hits the curve at the La Crosse yard, and detonate. The subsequent explosion will flatten La Crosse, blow a hole in the US Army's defenses, and cause mass panic. Beacon, with its computers in disarray, will be too busy assisting in disaster relief to notice the next phase, until it's too late."

Roman was taken aback. "How many people…do you think…at La Crosse?" This part of the plan he had not been aware of. It was one thing to shoot the occasional recalcitrant hostage to motivate the others. It was another to commit mass murder.

"I should think several hundred," Adam said, quite calmly. "Why? Is that a problem?"

Roman found himself unable to answer, so Neo did for him. "No."

"Good. It's a little distasteful, I admit, but it's unfortunately part of the job." Adam turned back to Sienna. "Sorry to interrupt, High Leader."

"Very well," Sienna said testily. "After the train explosion and the activation of Black Queen, Roman, you and Adam will lead an airstrike on Beacon. With any luck, aside from perhaps their combat air patrol, you will catch the majority of their aircraft on the ground. That will pave the way for an assault force of White Fang, led by myself. We will overrun the base, destroy it, and then exfiltrate. The entire operation should last about four hours, and we will be gone before reinforcements arrive."

"May I ask two questions, High Leader?" Adam raised two fingers. "One, how will we take off from here, and two, how will the White Fang get to Beacon?"

"I can answer that first question," Roman said. "Across the Mississippi is a small airfield. From the air—and hopefully in that Tomcat pilot's photographs—it will look deserted and unusable. In fact, it is actually quite operational. Between here and there is a sunken bridge…except the bridge can be raised. We will tow the aircraft over to the airfield when we get a chance, and hide them in the old hangars. We'll take off from there."

"And to answer the second question," Sienna put in, "Dr. Watts here will be expecting a shipment of six assault helicopters that we, ah, liberated from British Columbia. The White Fang force will be loaded in there. Which is why it's so important to eliminate Beacon's airpower before the assault begins. If it isn't, our helicopters will be just large, slow targets."

"What about the SAM defenses on the River Barrier?" asked Adam.

"Leave those to me," Watts answered. "My virus will take care of them as well."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have to admit this is quite the plan," Roman said. "There's just one question: why?"

"Why?" Sienna cocked her head to one said, looking for all the world like an inquisitive cat.

"I understand my involvement and Neo's—we plan on so disrupting the Air Force that we can operate with near impunity for awhile. There's money in that, so our involvement is greed." _For now,_ he thought. "I understand your motivations, Sienna, and yours, Adam—you want to strike a blow for Faunus everywhere." He pointed to Watts. "I even get yours, Dr. Watts. You're the type that enjoys inventing things and watching them work. What I don't understand, then, is the motivation of your patron. This Salem person."

"Oh, I know this one," Watts smiled. "Revenge, dear boy."


	41. Give Me the Night

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ah, the big dance. Originally, the first part of this was going to be a standalone chapter (but it was too short) and the dance would have its own chapter (but it was too long). So I'm splitting the middle._

_I know Pyrrha and Jaune not getting together until the dance is canon, but meh! I'm an Arkos shipper, and dammit, Pyrrha needs some happiness in her life, even in an AU. And something tells me that Weiss would be a huge Titanic fangirl. Maybe it's the ice..._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_29 April 2001_

Mercury Black climbed down from his F-16, took off the scarf he wore beneath the neck of his flight suit, and used it to mop the sweat from his face. It was another day of 1V1 training at Beacon, and this time it was against Juniper Flight. He had drawn Pyrrha Nikos. Mercury was expecting that—even looked forward to it, as he had been studying her, her background, film, and anything else he could find about the Greek heroine. He saw that she preferred to fight in the vertical, so that was what he prepared for. He had not prepared for a ghastly nine-G fight in the horizontal, what fighter pilots referred to as a knife fight in a phone booth. She had beaten him, which Mercury had also half-expected, though the loss still stung. It could be worse, he reflected. From what he had heard on the radio on the way in, Creamer Flight had given a fair account of itself. True, Emerald Sustrai had lost to Lie Ren, but only because she broke the hard deck after another hard fight. Cinder had "killed" Jaune Arc, though it had taken more effort than any of them had thought; the Frenchman was better than they had been led to believe.

"Woo-hoo! I'm proper chuffed, mate!" Mercury turned and was nearly run over by Ruth Lionheart, still clad in helmet and G-suit.

"What?" Mercury had no idea what she had just said. Ruth Lionheart was proof that the Americans and English were a people separated by a common language.

"I beat Nora Valkyrie! I caught her in the weeds with my Jaguar! It's damned jammy, but I'll take it!"

Mercury suppressed a groan. It _was_ worse. Ruth would be insufferable now. "Congratulations," he said between gritted teeth.

"You sound gutted, Mercury. Lose to the Great One, did you now?" Ruth shrugged. "No dishonor in that, mate. Anyway, talk at you later." She literally skipped back to postflight her Jaguar, tail swishing.

* * *

Mercury resisted the urge to plant a size twelve boot right in her Faunus ass, settling instead for taking off his helmet. He turned to begin his own postflight, but was surprised to see Weiss Schnee striding towards him. "Afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon," she returned the greeting. "I realize you just got back, but I wanted to catch you. In fact, I've been trying to catch you for the past few days."

"Sorry. It's been busy."

"I know." With the dance coming up, the instructors at Beacon seemed to be bent on making sure the students earned their day off. It had been 12-hour days of classroom work and flying. With the investigation of Torchwick's activities largely over, Ruby Flight had not been exempt from the grueling schedule. "I as well. In any case, Lieutenant Black, I have been considering your offer of going to the dance, and…I accept."

Mercury brightened, and not just because this was part of Cinder's plan. "Well! I thought you had forgotten about my offer."

"Not at all. It's just been quite busy, as you said."

He reached up and set his helmet on the canopy rim, then unzipped his G-suit. "Base rumor has it you were going with Jaune Arc."

"Merely rumors, Lieutenant. Though I consider Jaune a friend, he is no more than that."

"In that case, I accept." He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "I saw that on a nickelodeon once, and I've always—"

Weiss rolled her eyes. "You're quoting _Titanic_ to me?"

"Sorry."

She smiled and blushed a little. "It's all right. It happens to be my favorite movie." Mercury fought down the desire to make a crack about icebergs and Ice Queens, though just barely.

"The least you can do is call me Mercury," he told her.

"Mercury. Named for the god or the planet?" Weiss asked.

"Neither. My pops was a fan of Queen." At her quizzical expression, he explained, "Freddie Mercury? Lead singer?"

"I'm afraid I'm not up on my obscure rock bands."

Mercury let it go, though he was already beginning to think this had been a bad idea after all, Cinder or no Cinder. Weiss Schnee was going to be about as much fun as watching paint dry. "Anyway, would you like me to pick you up or vice-versa?"

"No reason to inconvenience yourself…Mercury. Rather than try to match our schedules, meet me at the officers' club."

Despite his misgivings, Mercury couldn't keep the smirk off his face. "It's a date…Weiss."

She blushed again. Many males could not meet her eyes when they said her name, but Mercury seemed to be looking into her soul. It was both alluring and disconcerting at the same time. "See you then."

Weiss turned away and began walking further down the taxiway into the dispersal area. She wondered if she had made a mistake, but given that she _knew_ she had made one with Jaune Arc, it was at worst the lesser of two evils.

_And speak of the devil,_ Weiss thought, seeing Juniper Flight climbing out of their aircraft. _Well…a lesser demon, perhaps._ She walked towards the Mirage, only to be cut off by a charging Nora Valkyrie. Nora's hair was sticking up in odd directions, but she looked furious—and she was heading for Ruth Lionheart's Jaguar. _Oh dear,_ Weiss said to herself; Nora was going to demolish the Faunus, and Weiss didn't relish the thought of getting in between someone who practiced mixed martial arts and someone who was essentially a lioness.

"You!" Nora shouted. "Get out from under that Jag, Lionheart, because I've got something to say to you." Ren saw what was happening and began running in her direction, but he would never make it in time.

Ruth ducked out from under her aircraft, holding what appeared to be a tree branch. "Oh, stone the crows," she said.

"Yeah, whatever that means," Nora snapped. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, lady?"

Ruth shifted her body weight slightly and turned to present a smaller target. "Go on, then."

"I'm gonna…buy you a beer!" Nora took two steps forward and slapped Ruth so hard on the back that the Faunus girl nearly collapsed. "Holy shit, girl!" Ren slowed to a halt at the huge grin on Nora's face. "Did you _see_ this crazy little bitch, Ren? No, wait, you were waxing that Spanish chick's butt. She shot me down! Can you believe that? Me!"

"You seem rather happy about it," Ren commented.

"Normally I'd be torqued off, but anyone who shoots down an A-10 while _climbing_ deserves a damn medal!" Nora shook her head in wonder. "They waived the hard deck for us, and I'm sitting there like a dumbass waiting to ambush her at about three thousand AGL. She comes in _under_ me. You had to be at, what, about a thousand feet?"

"Oh, heavens no." Ruth handed her the tree branch. "Got this out of my main landing gear door. I was about five hundred, maybe? I thought I heard something…I must've hit this tree."

Nora squeezed Ruth so hard the lioness gasped. "This girl, Ren! This girl! She's crazy as hell!"

"Steady on, mate!" Ruth fought free to get some air. "Well, then. Glad you're not browned off about the whole thing, Nora."

"Hell no! Let's go get a beer."

"As long as it's not that American stuff I had the other night—PBR, I think it was?" Ruth made a face and her ears flattened back.

"That stuff is like sex in a canoe," Nora remarked. When Ruth cocked her head to one side, Nora grinned. "Fucking near water."

_Oh, _Weiss thought. _So that's what Yang meant._

* * *

With no imminent brawl between Creamer and Juniper, Weiss went to go find Jaune. She noticed Pyrrha already walking down the line, and that the Greek girl had been looking daggers at her. When she saw Weiss turn her head in her direction, Pyrrha quickly looked away. _Well,_ Weiss told herself, _this should make her feel better…unless Jaune is a complete fool._

"Hello, Jaune."

Jaune had been signing his Form One for his crew chief, noting that the postflight was finished and nothing was wrong with the aircraft. "Oh, hello, Weiss."

Weiss was going to be direct with him, but suddenly found herself unable to say it. "Ah…how was the fight?"

Jaune laughed. "You know, considering how outmatched I was, I did all right. I kept Captain Fall tied up for about three minutes before she finally got me in a snapshot gun pass." Weiss was pleasantly surprised: most air combats were decided in thirty seconds or less. For Jaune to wrap up Cinder Fall and her F-15 for three minutes was no small accomplishment. Though technically Jaune was still "dead," it was far better than he would have done two weeks prior. He was a fast learner, and Weiss found herself oddly proud of him.

_Good. At least this will be easier on him._ "Jaune, I…" _Dammit, Weiss! Tell him! What's wrong with you? You're not even attracted to him…_

_...are you?_

"Weiss, is this about the dance?"

"Er…yes."

Jaune smiled, a little sadly. "You're going to tell me you made a mistake, that you only agreed to go with me because I caught you at a bad time, and you really want to go with someone else."

Weiss shared his wan smile. "When you put it like that, I feel like a real asshole." That made him laugh again. Weiss rarely cursed, or at least not in other people's presence. "But yes. It's not because you're…unattractive, or anything…"

"I'll take that as a compliment. But…" Jaune stumbled a bit over his words. "Honestly, Weiss—not to hurt your feelings or anything, because I'd never do that, but—"

"You don't want to go to the dance with me either," Weiss finished. "You'd rather go with Pyrrha."

"Now _I_ feel like an asshole." Jaune was scratching the back of his head, a nervous tic Weiss had noticed he did when he thought he had screwed up.

"Jaune, that's the main reason why I'm turning you down. To be honest, you've become much less annoying than you used to be, but you're not really my type. You are, however, Pyrrha's." Weiss did not feel like mentioning that Pyrrha's type seemed to be broken things, things that she could then repair—though if Jaune's growing skill was any indication, the Greek girl was rather good at repairing. She put out a hand. "Friends?"

"Sure." He took her hand and shook it once. "Whew…glad that's over with. I've been sweating that for a week."

"You need to be more assertive. And it's not over yet." She got behind him and pushed. "Pyrrha is down the way there. Go ask her or I'll throw you down the intake of my Typhoon."

"Roger that!" He threw her a salute and dashed down the taxiway. Weiss watched him go, and once more wondered if she had made a mistake.

* * *

"Pyrrha!"

Pyrrha turned at the sound of her name. "Hello again," she smiled. It was not really a genuine one, though it was more from exhaustion than any hatred of Jaune—though there was a touch of self-loathing there. She realized she had been jealous of Weiss Schnee, and there was absolutely no reason for that, just as there was no reason to be upset that no one had asked her to the dance. Pyrrha knew why. They saw her as an unattainable goal, or worse, just another scalp to put on their belts. They were either terrified of the Invincible Girl or they were after her for her body, not Pyrrha the person. "What did Weiss want?" To her shame, Pyrrha couldn't keep the anger out of her voice.

"To inform me that we had both made a big mistake." Jaune didn't know what else to do, so he got down on one knee. Pyrrha's eyes rounded and she dropped her helmet on the concrete, hands going to her mouth. "Pyrrha, would you go with me to the dance?"

"To the dance?" She blew out her breath. "Oh, thank goodness!"

"Huh?"

Pyrrha drew Jaune back up to his feet. "You looked like you were going to propose to me."

"I was, I was proposing…oh." The light came on for Jaune Arc. He turned as red as Pyrrha's hair. "Uh, no, just the dance. I mean, you're great, but…"

"Yes, that would be quite sudden." She took his hands in hers. "I accept, Jaune. To the dance," she hurriedly added. "To the dance."

"Well, gor blimey and kick the cats," Ruth commented at the pastiche of Jaune and Pyrrha. "That's a right heartwarming sight, so it is."

"Indeed it is," Ren said, putting an arm around Nora. "All's right with the world."

* * *

_Building 111715 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_30 April 2001_

"Good evening, Captain," Velvet Scarlatina said, then her eyes widened and she snapped to attention. "Captain Ozpin, sir!"

"As you were, Flying Officer." Ozpin waved her down. "I take it you are the official greeter?" He motioned to an open book.

"Yes, sir. It was recommended by Captain Fall that everyone sign in. That way if the party gets, well, out of hand…" Her cheeks burned at the memory of the night of the party, which she didn't remember that well, except where she had woken up in the arms of Scarlet David. Both had still been dressed, but Velvet still wasn't sure who had been embarassed more.

"Good idea," Glynda Goodwitch said, and signed her name in the book. Ozpin did the same—though he only signed one name. The two entered the dining room. She smiled mischieviously at Ozpin. "I do so love watching everyone pop to when they see that itty bitty medal." She nodded at the Medal of Honor around Ozpin's neck. It was actually far from a small medal, and it immediately drew the attention of everyone who saw it. By tradition, everyone from the youngest private to the oldest general had to acknowledge the Medal of Honor and whoever wore it. As a formal occasion, Ozpin wore his dress whites, with full ribbons. To say it was impressive was an understatement. Goodwitch wore the formal "mess dress" blue uniform of the USAF, though she did not have as many ribbons or medals as Ozpin, she still carried more than the usual amount for a Lieutenant Colonel.

The formal officers' club dining room had been converted slightly. Tables and chairs had been moved to line the walls, clearing the hardwood floors for a dance floor. The base band played classical music from the dais, but huge speakers and a DJ booth promised something a little less formal later.

"I see that Peter is dressed for the occasion," Ozpin noted. Port wore an RAF dress uniform with more gold braid and aguillettes than anyone in the room.

"I see that Bartholomew isn't," Goodwitch remarked. The two men were speaking to each other, but while Port looked every inch the decorated British war veteran he was, Oobleck's only nod to the formal occasion was that his shirt was tucked in and his tie was knotted.

"Barty will never change," Ozpin snickered. They passed the punch bowl. "Good evening, Lieutenant Rose. Are you alone tonight? I'm surprised."

Ruby was dressed in the same uniform as Goodwitch, but only had a paltry three medals. The outfit had cost Ruby a considerable amount, but it did look good; she was very glad that the dress was nearly floor length. Ruby believed that her legs were a bit too skinny. "Hi, Captain—" Her silver eyes went as big as dinner plates at the sight of the Medal of Honor. "Sir!" She snapped to attention so fast that she nearly slipped.

Ozpin caught her with a hand. "Careful!"

"Sorry, sir. It's these dumb heels. I feel like I'm walking on stilts."

He laughed. "I'm not surprised you would find them uncomfortable, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," Ruby said miserably. She stared at the medal. "Captain Ozpin? This is going to sound really weird, but…may I touch that?"

"Certainly," Ozpin said. It was actually not that unusual of a request. Ruby reached out and cradled the medal in her hands. It was bronze, gold, and heavy. "Wow," she breathed. "How did you win this, sir?"

"He earned it," Goodwitch corrected. She pointed at Ozpin. "This man shot down six Nevermores headed for the USS _Enterprise_ during the European War. By himself. In a F-8."

"Wooow," Ruby repeated. "I'd love to hear the story someday."

"Someday, Lieutenant. Someday." Ozpin turned as Yang Xiao Long arrived. Yang had one more ribbon than Ruby, and certainly filled out the USAF dress blues. "Hi, Rubes. Hey, Colonel. Hi, Captain," Yang greeted them. Then she saw the medal and crashed to attention, albeit with more grace than Ruby did. "Holy shit!"

"Excuse me?" Goodwitch snapped.

"Ma'am! I meant, holy shit, _sir!"_

This time, Ozpin nearly doubled over with laughter, and even Goodwitch could not help a grin. Once Ozpin got his breath back, he raised his hands in surrender. "As you were, Captain, as you were."

"Terrorizing the young folk?" James Ironwood walked up to them. His US Army dress uniform was a darker blue than the USAF version, and his three stars glittered in the light. He too came to attention briefly when he met Ozpin, but without surprise. He nodded at Ruby and Yang. "Ladies, good evening."

"Good evening, sir," both replied.

"Captain Ozpin, with your permission, I would like to ask this lovely lady to dance." He bowed to Goodwitch, who turned bright red. "Come on, Glynda. Norway wasn't that long ago."

She stiffened, but after a moment of hesitation, sighed. "Oh, why the hell not." She took Ironwood's arm and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.

Ozpin returned his attention to Ruby and Yang. "Captain Long, did you come with a date?"

"No, sir. I'm stag as well." She shrugged. "I was just busy as hell, sir. Never did get a chance."

"Understandable. Well, you can relax tonight."

"I intend to, sir." She pointed to the Medal. "Captain, could I…well…"

Ozpin smiled. "By all means, Captain."

* * *

Sun Wukong struggled with his tie, which had come unraveled. "Damn neck trap!" he shouted in Chinese.

"I don't speak Chinese, but I'm assuming you're having trouble?"

Sun turned around and missed a breath. Blake Belladonna did wonders to the Marine dress uniform: a very dark blue outfit, with a white shirt and red cummerbund. Sun was a bit sad to see that the dress was floor-length, which hid Blake's rather toned and attractive legs. "Hallelujah," he said in English.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She reached up and adjusted his tie, getting it straight. "No wonder you always go shirtless."

"Hey, I'm from Hainan. Not exactly cold there." He held out his arm, and she took it. "So does this mean we're going together?"

"For now." She gave him a winning smile. "Though my first dance is spoken for."

Sun smacked his fist into his palm. "Really? Because I'll fight them for the honor."

"You're going to fight Yang?"

Sun thought about it for a moment. "No…she fights dirty."

* * *

Weiss Schnee joined them at the punch bowl. "Is this the rendezvous for Ruby Flight?" She stood to attention. "Captain Ozpin."

He nodded to her. "Good evening, Oberleutnant. A shame your sister won't be joining us tonight."

"Do you know why Major Oum requested her, sir?"

Ozpin shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but she will be back day after tomorrow." He saw with amusement that Weiss was looking everywhere but at his Medal of Honor.

Ruby came to her rescue. "So that's the Luftwaffe mess dress. Looks good."

"You look like a Kraut from World War II," Yang put in.

Weiss rolled her eyes. "The uniform cut and rank styling is very close to the wartime Luftwaffe uniform. And given that I _am_ a Kraut…" She turned towards the entrance. "Well, well. Mission accomplished, Yang."

"Told you she'd be here." Yang winked at them and began walking towards Blake and Sun.

"Where's your date?" Ruby asked Weiss.

"Right there." She spotted Mercury Black, who walked in alongside Emerald Sustrai and Cinder Fall. He waved to her. Weiss waved back, patted Ruby's shoulder, and moved off to meet her date.

* * *

"Now that everyone's gone," Ruby remarked to no one in particular, "maybe I can take off these stupid shoes."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "Not enjoying yourself?"

"With respect, sir…hell no. I'm just not much of a dancey girl."

"That surprises me, Lieutenant." At Ruby's shocked expression, Ozpin continued. "Fighting and dancing aren't terribly different. There are maneuvers, spins, and occasionally violent disengaging breaks and midair collisions. And it's certainly 1V1."

"I think if I tried to do a split-S in these shoes, I'd really hurt myself," Ruby grumped.

"Salutations!"

Ruby turned and was nearly crushed to death in a Penny Polendina hug. To their surprise, she was also dressed in a USAF mess dress, though without medals. "Penny…ergh…" Ruby struggled out, and Penny let her go. The other girl clearly did not know her own enhanced strength.

"Hello there, Miss Polendina," Ozpin greeted her. "I am surprised to see you here."

"Good evening, Captain Ozpin," Penny returned. "General Ironwood thought it would be good for me to socialize." She plucked at the uniform. "This was his idea. He didn't want me to stand out. Technically I am a 1st Lieutenant, but it is honorary only." She looked a little downcast at that.

"For now," Ozpin reassured her.

Ruby tried to surreptitiously point to Ozpin's Medal of Honor, but Penny did not remotely notice. "Ruby, may I ask you a question that you may find offensive?"

"Sure, I guess." Ruby gave up. In any case, Ozpin seemed amused rather than offended at Penny's cluelessness.

"May I dance with you? We are both females, but I of course did not have a date to this dance."

"Not offended at all, Penny," Ruby grinned. "I'll warn you that I'm a lousy dancer, especially in these lady stilts."

"I too am a poor dancer, so we shall be poor dancers together." She led Ruby out on the dance floor. Ruby shrugged at Ozpin, who once more shook his head, this time with a smile, remembering better times.

"Youth is wasted on the young," he sighed, "and wisdom on the old."

* * *

Mercury excused himself from Weiss on the dance floor, and went over to the table, where a heroic amount of champagne glasses were arrayed next to an open bar. Evidently, Ozpin was trusting his pilots not to get too out of hand and ruin their dress uniforms. Mercury picked up two glasses, standing next to Cinder, who was getting a beer. "What time do you plan on leaving?" he whispered.

"As soon as I finish this," she replied quietly. "You know what to do?"

"Looking forward to it," he smiled.

"Good. If anyone asks, I went to…powder my nose."

"Make sure you're home by midnight so you don't turn into a pumpkin," Mercury said, and went back to Weiss. Cinder's hand tightened around the beer bottle so much it cracked.


	42. Dancing in the Dark

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: The second half of the big dance chapter. Sorry, no Jaune in a dress (pretty sure he'd be court-martialed for that in this AU). but JNPR does end up doing a dance. And I won't apologize for it. Muahahahaha!_

_All kinds of romance to go along with the Cinder/Ruby action scene-we've got some Renora, some Black Sun, some Arkos, and whatever the heck Ruth and Neptune would be (Wet Cat? Water Lion?)._

_I kind of feel like I need to apologize for Yang's language here, but she's angry, and Yang strikes me as the "every other word" type of person when she's upset. _

* * *

_Building 111715 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_30 April 2001_

Ironwood excused himself, and fought down a smile at leaving a flustered Glynda Goodwitch behind him. He stepped out the side door into the cool night air, took a cell phone from his pocket, and dialed a number with one hand. To his surprise, it rang four times before it picked up. "Winter Schnee."

"Evening, Winter. How are you?"

"Oh! General Ironwood, sir. I apologize—I did not recognize the number."

"I'm using my personal phone. I take it you got to Signal just fine."

"I did, thank you."

Ironwood's eyebrows beetled together. "You sound out of breath. Are you all right?"

"Just finished a workout." He thought he heard a slapping noise in the background, then silence. "I talked with Major Branwen. He reports no uptick in GRIMM deeper in the Dead Zones." She paused. "And General, with respect, I have never met such a loutish, idiotic, self-centered, drunken…doofus in my thirty-five years on this planet."

Ironwood stifled a laugh. "Qrow grows on you."

"Like bacteria, perhaps."

Ironwood grew serious again. "What about the…thing…with the Schnee Company?"

There was the briefest of hesitations. "Nothing yet. I have to be quite delicate about it."

"Of course." Ironwood thought he heard a male voice in the background and frantic whispering from Winter. "It sounds like you're busy, Winter, so I will let you go. I've got a dance to get back to myself."

"Certainly, sir. Would you mind keeping an eye on my sister, General?"

"I will do that, Winter. Good night." He hung up as he heard her sign off.

Ozpin could not explain to Goodwitch later why he had heard General James Ironwood laughing his head off.

* * *

Ruby found herself back at the punch bowl, but was glad of the refreshment. Sweat dripped off her brow and ruined her hair, and her feet were killing her. She grabbed a cupful of punch and limped over to a chair, next to her sister, who looked supremely self-satisfied. The smug look disappeared at Ruby's pained expression. "You okay, Rubes?"

"No. I want to know what demented son of a bitch invented high heels."

"Weiss would know." Yang took a pull from her beer. "I saw you dancing with Penny."

"How bad were we?"

"Do you want honesty?" Ruby nodded, and Yang winced. "Well, you had better coordination at your 2nd grade dance."

"I accidentally broke Yamanu Shinigami's big toe and barfed on Fyodor Molotov's shoes at my 2nd grade dance."

"My point exactly."

Ruby took a shot of punch. "Well, at least Penny's coordinated enough that I didn't break anything. Not sure why she broke out the robot halfway through when they started playing Mozart."

"That was the best part," Yang said. The sisters looked at each other, then giggled. For a moment, they were little again. "You know, I think we really needed this."

The band swung into Shostakovich's _Second Waltz_, which was slightly more uptempo from their previous piece, Strauss' _Blue Danube._ Ruby and Yang watched Sun and Blake spin around the floor; evidently Sun had taken some lessons in ballroom dancing, and despite the long dress, the Faunus girl glided across the hardwood. Ren and Nora weren't far behind them, and though Ren was clearly the superior dancer, Nora was holding her own.

"Tomorrow it's back to work," Yang sighed.

"Let's not worry about it." Ruby finished her punch. "We can handle anything they throw at us—well, dip me in glaze and call me a donut!"

"You been hanging around with Ruth Lionheart—" Then Yang saw who Ruby was pointing at. "How do you like that, sports fans?"

Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos had joined the dancing.

* * *

As they began dancing, Pyrrha fingered Jaune's uniform. "I like this. Very World War I, knights in the air and all that."

"Thanks. Yours is…"

"World War II?" Pyrrha laughed. "Well, there's something to be said for tradition."

They waltzed into the center of the ballroom, though neither really noticed. Jaune's right hand rested lightly at the small of her back, his left in hers. Though not strictly regulation, Pyrrha had done up her red hair with a gold circlet. Jaune also couldn't help but notice the number of ribbons and medals on her left breast. She saw him staring, and smiled. "I'm glad you like them, Jaune."

He turned beet red. "No! I was just…medals! You have a lot of them!"

"Not so loud. Yes, I know. And I know what you were looking at. Just kidding you." Pyrrha felt particularly happy this night, and a little mischievious. Nothing too naughty, but just enough to tease Jaune. "You know, technically no one asked me to the dance until you did yesterday. I think, perhaps, that means you lost your bet?"

"Huh?" Jaune responded.

"You should've worn a dress." She motioned at Blake. "Not hers, though. It would hide your legs."

Jaune laughed. She liked to hear him laugh. "I don't think I could've pulled off a dress."

"Don't put yourself down. I bet you would've looked great in one." Pyrrha was surprised when Jaune spun her, though she easily compensated. "My! You're an excellent dancer, Jaune."

"These things tend to happen when you grow up with seven sisters. You're not so bad yourself."

"I'm Greek. It's in the blood." He dipped Pyrrha, her ponytail touching the floor, then brought her back up to him. They ended up close to each other. Suddenly, it was all Pyrrha could do not to crush herself against those handsome lips. It had suddenly become too intimate. Heart thudding, she drew back, and could see that Jaune had been afflicted in the same fashion.

Nora walked up to them as the band halted for a break. "Get a room, you two." She winked as both of them blushed. "No, really, you should."

"Nora!" Pyrrha exclaimed.

"Behave," Ren admonished her. Nora stuck out her tongue, and an unholy light dawned in her eyes. "Hmm!" she said, eyeing Ren up and down. "Ren. This. Is. Happening!"

"Wait. _What_ is happening?" he asked, but Nora was already heading towards the newly-arrived DJ. She leaned over and whispered something to the DJ, who grinned and nodded. Nora skipped back to the rest of Juniper Flight. "Jaune, Pyrrha," she said, "did you know Renny here is a professionally trained dancer?" Before Ren could answer, Nora nodded. "Yep! He studied dance while at the academy, and he's very good. And do you know what his favorite dance is?"

"You didn't. You wouldn't," Ren groaned, covering his eyes. The first chords of _Macarena_ sounded through the club, bringing both cheers and jeers. Nora took up the opening stance, and Ren, with a mighty sigh, joined her. Jaune tried to leave, having flashbacks of his sisters, but Pyrrha, laughing, grabbed him and forced him to join his flight.

* * *

"Oh. My. _God._" Yang stared popeyed at the sight of Juniper Flight doing the Macarena. Then Blake and Sun joined them. Yang finished her beer, set down the bottle, and got to her feet. "Well, what the eff. C'mon, Rubes."

"Like hell. I'll die in these shoes." Ruby stood up, but she headed for the side entrance, praying that Penny didn't see her. Being forced to do the Macarena by a physically-enhanced clone sounded like something out of a very bad science-fiction movie. "I'll get some air."

"Suit yourself." Yang began dancing her way down the chairs, yanked a screaming Weiss up from her seat, and dragged her onto the dance floor.

* * *

Emerald was giggling so hard that her sides hurt. "What's going on?" Cinder's voice rasped in her ear. She reached up and touched the earpiece, as if she was scratching her ear.

"They're doing the Macarena."

"What a shame I'm not there," Cinder replied, heavy with sarcasm. "How long do I have?"

"I'd say about thirty minutes."

"Roger that. Tell Mercury to do his thing."

* * *

A block away in the small park off the quad, Cinder hid herself behind the same row of hedges Ruby had a week before, though she was unaware of that fact. She stripped off her clothes, down to her underwear, and turned the uniform inside out. The interior was black, and lined with a thin layer of ballistic cloth. It would not stop a bullet, but it would slow one down. She removed the heels from her shoes, leaving her with a low-heeled pair, and turned her gloves inside out, putting them on as socks. Finally, she unfolded the short tie that came with the female mess dress into a scarf, and tightened her hair into a bun. It left only her eyes uncovered.

The building housing the base computers was only two blocks away. Beacon was deserted: most of the base officers were at the dance, and the enlisted men and women were enjoying a night off. She easily made her way through the shadows to the front entrance. It was locked, but Cinder took off her ankle bracelet, twisted it, and ended up with a pair of lockpicks. She went to work on the lock, which to her surprise had not been an electronic one.

Without warning, the door clicked open. Cinder couldn't be sure who was more surprised: her or the air policeman that stood there, hand on the doorknob, a question dying on his lips. Cinder, however, reacted faster. She grabbed the policeman by the ears and brought him headfirst into her upraised knee. There was the crack of a broken nose, and the man dropped like a stone. Cinder bent over and punched the guard to make sure, but he was unconscious.

There were no patrols outside, but Cinder decided not to chance it: Emerald had reported one guard on the inside, but the USAF typically paired up their air policemen. She dragged the man outside, rolled him off the steps into a bush, grabbed his radio and tonfa club, and closed the door silently behind her.

* * *

Ruby had intended to just go outside for a breath of fresh, if cold air, but another near disaster with her heels made her decide enough was enough: she would go back to the dorm, get more sensible footwear, and come back—and hang the dress regulations. Ozpin would understand; any further time in the heels would be risking her life.

Stripping the heels off, Ruby began walking in her stockinged feet back to the dorm. She decided to cut through the park, get across Arryn Avenue (she would need her heels for that, unfortunately), then go across the quad.

Ruby was not sure if she just had unusually sharp peripheral vision, or it had something to do with having silver eyes, but either way, she caught movement. She turned in that direction, but it was just a shadow. "What the hell?" she whispered. Curious, she followed, but she had to pick her way through the park. She followed what she thought was the shadow's path, and came to the computer building. There was nothing there in the slight glow of the streetlights.

She was about to write it off to an overactive imagination when she saw the body.

Ruby ran over to the air policeman, lying face down behind a bush; she had seen his legs sticking out. She reached up and with effort, turned him over, and felt for a pulse. It was there: despite the blood that had made a mess of the policeman's shirt, he was still alive. Ruby thought about slapping him awake, but then thought he might have a concussion, which she didn't want to make worse. She knew she should probably run back to the officers' club for help, but the blood was still fresh; whoever did this, Ruby thought, was still in the area.

The blood trail led back to the door. Ruby made a quick decision. She snatched the ring of keys off the guard's belt and took a step towards the door, then reached back, and unholstered the policeman's pistol.

* * *

The computer room was actually two levels down, reached by elevator, inside a vault that was hardened against electromagnetic pulse. It was also reinforced to survive a direct bomb hit on the building itself. The designers, however, had not anticipated someone would simply sneak into the place. Neither had the air policewoman on duty. She lay crumpled against the wall, with a broken arm and a severe concussion, thanks to the tonfa club and a convienent steel wall for Cinder to ram the policewoman's head into.

The vault did have an electronic lock, one operated by a passcard—the same one the policewoman had around her neck. The door opened with a click, and Cinder was in. The interior was kept cool, with banks of a server farm and scattered workstations. She reached into her dress and pulled out the small disk case that had been attached to her thigh, picked a workstation and opened the CD tray.

* * *

Much to Nora's disappointment, the Macarena had come to an end, and after a round of applause for Juniper Flight, the DJ moved on to Intermission's _Piece of My Heart_ and LA Style's _James Brown is Dead._ At another suggestion from Nora, the DJ—an off-duty airman who was wondering if Lieutenant Valkyrie was going to get him court-martialed—put on Color Me Badd's _I Wanna Sex You Up._ Pyrrha was not about to go that far, so she dragged Jaune off the dance floor towards the punch bowl. Sun, disappointed, followed Blake off the floor, but there were plenty of others who took their place. Ren frantically looked around, but there was no escape: Nora fastened herself on him like a lamprey.

Goodwitch stood up from where she shared a table with Ozpin and Ironwood: she could tolerate some good dance music to liven up an otherwise somewhat boring formal dine-in, but this was a song too far; it was practically an invitation for sex. Ozpin, however, put a hand on her wrist and shook his head. "They're young," he said to her over the music. "Let them have a little fun."

Ironwood stood, and for a terrifying moment, Goodwitch thought he was about to ask her to the dance floor. To her immense relief, however, he grinned at Ozpin. "I think that's my cue to leave. See you both in the morning."

* * *

Across the dance floor, where she leaned against the champagne table, Emerald saw Ironwood heading for the main entrance. There was only static in her earpiece, but they had expected to lose contact with Cinder. She glanced at the clock: twenty minutes had passed. She turned so that she was hidden from everyone else. "Mercury," she said into the mike pickup, "whatever in the hell you're going to do, do it now. Ironwood's leaving and Cinder needs more time."

Mercury did not respond. He and Weiss had been hanging around the periphery of the dance floor, waiting for something a little less sexual to dance to. He reached out, took Weiss' hand, and pulled her with him onto the floor. "_Was?"_ she remarked, too surprised to say it in English. Mercury twirled her around, then drew her very close to him, grinding his crotch against hers.

Weiss turned red, more in shock than anything else. Mercury Black had been a gentleman, keeping her the requisite distance that her dancing coach had taught her for a young man to keep from a young lady, and now he was doing everything but throwing her down and having his way with her. Weiss liked bad boys now and then, but this was way too much. When she felt his hands grab her rear end and squeeze, her right hand rocketed up and hit him across the jaw. He reeled with the slap. The sound of it was like a rifle shot: dancers instantly froze in place, and the DJ wisely hit pause.

"What the hell?" Mercury shouted indignantly.

"This dance is over," Weiss snarled. "That is _not_ how you treat a lady, much less an officer."

"Oh, shut up!" he yelled. "You wanted it, Weiss! You practically had your tongue in my ear over there!" He rubbed his face, where there was a distinct print of Weiss' hand.

If Weiss' face could get any deeper of a red, no one knew, just as no one knew if Weiss turned that color out of embarassment or rage. "That is a damned lie!"

"It's not and you know it, Schnee!"

Ironwood had turned at the sound of the slap, and he began making his way towards the dance floor. Ozpin and Goodwitch had stood, but Yang got to Weiss' side before anyone. She put a hand on Mercury's chest. "You back off, buddy. She said no."

Mercury looked between them. "Oh, I see what's going on here." He leered. "Don't ask, don't tell, huh? So which one of you is the guy when you fuck, Yang? Or is it your little whore sister—"

Yang grabbed a double handful of Mercury's dress jacket. "The next word out of your mouth better be sandwich, you cocksucker, because you're going to be _eating_ it!" He only grinned at her, and Yang's temper blew. With her left hand still holding onto Mercury's jacket, she drew back her right hand in a fist.

There was a flurry of motion: Weiss grabbed Yang's hand, Ren grabbed her by the waist, and Emerald charged forward to pull Mercury away. She whipped him around and shoved Mercury to the ground, and then Ironwood was there. With one hand, he hauled Mercury to his feet. "You are in considerable deep shit," he growled at the lieutenant. "Glynda, if you wouldn't mind calling the MPs, I think this young man needs to cool his ardor in the stockade."

"My pleasure," Goodwitch snarled. Ironwood grabbed the back of Mercury's jacket and dragged him towards the entrance; Mercury, wisely, did not resist. Weiss and Ren felt Yang relax and let her go, and Emerald walked over to her. "I'm sorry," she said to Yang. "I don't know what got into him."

"I didn't do any of that," Weiss insisted. "He just grabbed me all of a sudden."

"Oh, I know," Emerald agreed. "I was watching you two. I dunno…Mercury's not like that. He wasn't drinking, was he?" Weiss shook his head.

"I don't care if he was stone cold sober or not," Yang hissed. "He says anything like that about Weiss or my sister again, and I'll kill the motherfucker." She took a breath, trying to calm down. "Let me get some air. Anybody seen Ruby?"

"I'll come with you," Emerald said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry." Inwardly, Emerald smiled. The incident couldn't have gone any better.

* * *

Cinder checked the computer, and typed in a last command. The virus had been uploaded. For the briefest moment, a black queen chesspiece flickered on the screen, then it went blank. Satisfied, she took the CD out of the computer, used the tonfa to break it into pieces, and put them into a garbage can, shoving various printouts and styrofoam coffee cups on top of it. She left the radio where it was, and headed for the elevator. Cinder checked her watch: it had been over twenty minutes. She stood over the body of the fallen policewoman for a moment, then reached down and grabbed the pistol. Someone might have noticed the body by now, and though she did not want to fight her way out, it was a possibility. In the last extreme, Cinder decided, she would use the pistol on herself. She could not be taken alive.

She took the elevator up two floors, where it opened with a ding. To her relief, the hallway was still dark and empty. She would dash out the fire door, which would set off the alarm as a further distraction, then change back into her uniform in the park.

"Hey, is anyone there?"

Ruby Rose had a very distinctive voice; Cinder recognized it instantly. In the light of the streetlamp she saw that Ruby had a weapon. At the same time, Ruby saw her, though even with her eyesight, she only saw a feminine shadow. "Who the hell—"

Cinder opened fire. She fired wildly, interested more in keeping Ruby's head down than trying to kill her. Ruby ducked behind a corner, leaned out for a quick glance, then fired two shots back. One bullet shattered a glass door, another missed Cinder's head by inches. Cinder emptied the pistol as she retreated down the hallway, tossed the gun in Ruby's general direction, and went out the fire door. Ruby whirled out from behind the corner, leveled the pistol, but winced as the fire alarm went off. There was a glimpse of her target, but she held her fire, not wanting to fire unless she was absolutely sure of what she was firing at.

Ruby jogged forward, keeping the pistol raised, and flattened herself against the doorjamb. With one hand, she eased the door open with the panic bar, then pointed the pistol, keeping most of her body behind the door. The parking lot behind the building was empty.

The front door down the hall burst open. "Hands in the air!" shouted an air policeman. "Drop the weapon and get down on the floor!" Behind him muscled in another AP, this one in body armor and with an assault rifle.

Ruby turned around slowly, hands up, and let the pistol clatter to the floor. She gently went down to her knees, then lay spreadeagled on the cold tile floor as the policemen ran to her and dragged her hands into cuffs.

_I knew tonight was going to suck,_ she thought.

* * *

"So…" Ruth Lionheart said to Neptune Vasillas, "you ever been with a Faunus gel before?"

"Can't…can't say as I have," he stammered. They had gone to the dance, but when Ruth had tried to drag him onto the dance floor, he had finally confessed it to her: he had no idea how to dance. Ruth had shrugged, and instead they spent the night talking at one of the tables. She had downed one too many glasses of champagne, and she suggested a walk in the park to clear her head; Neptune, unwisely, had agreed.

And now he found himself with a very amorous Faunus lioness on his hands. Or more properly, under them.

They were under a tree, very secluded, and Neptune was not naïve—he knew what Ruth had planned. He was more than willing to go along with it; after too many drinks of his own, he had once admitted to Sun that he always wondered what Faunus girls were like. Now he was wondering if he had made a mistake. Or if she was trying to kiss him or devour him.

"What's that noise?" he asked for the second time. By the time they had reached the tree, a fire alarm had gone off somewhere.

"Who cares?" She fumbled with the buttons on his dress whites, got enough of them off, and ran her claws gently over his well-sculpted chest. They were not Sun abs, but they weren't bad at all. "Oh, basin of gravy."

"Uh, Ruth…"

"Don't see your paws moving." Hers were, and heading south.

"Oh, the hell with it," Neptune gave up. Her jacket landed on his shirt, and their caps followed. She took hold of her shirt and was about to show Neptune her bounties when they both heard the sound of someone being very sick. Much to his dismay, Ruth let go of her shirt and went to go look. "What the—Cindah?"

Neptune came over, and was shocked to see Captain Cinder Fall, her uniform on but her jacket off, and her shirt unbuttoned to reveal a black, lacy bra. That was less an issue than the fact that she looked terrible, gagging over a pile of vomit. Cinder glanced up to them. "Ruth?"

"Cinder, what happened?"

"Don't know…think I ate something at the party. I came back here to get some air, and just started throwing up. I'm not feeling well at all."

"You don't look too brilliant either," Ruth said. She snatched up Cinder's jacket and put it around her flight leader's shoulders. "Don't just stand there staring at her tits, you bloody fool!" Ruth yelled at Neptune. "Find a medico!"

"Right, right," Neptune said, inwardly cursing at his horrible luck. He grabbed at his shirt and began putting it on, running back towards the officers' club.

"Can't believe he was staring at your jubblies," Ruth growled. "What do you have that I don't?"

Cinder spit vomitus from her lips. She had been in the middle of changing back into her uniform when she spotted Ruth and Neptune coming into the park, and thought of a perfect alibi. It required sticking her finger down her throat and regurgitating her dinner, but now two people would vouch for her. "Nothing," Cinder smiled at Ruth. "I just have more of them." Her smile widened at the Faunus' scowl.

All in all, it had been a very good night, Cinder thought.


	43. Pomp and Circumstance

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: We begin the buildup to the BIG battle that will conclude this story arc-and this chapter of "On RWBY Wings." As the chapters are getting pretty long, I'll finish this one up and start a new fanfic chapter, "On RWBY Wings II: Vytal Flag."_

_Originally, I was going to have the medal ceremony be at the end of this story arc, but nah...these people deserve a break. They're not going to get too many in the future. And there's a little reference to RWBY Chibi in this chapter too. Man, they have got to make more of that series. _

* * *

_Building 71414 (Base Headquarters, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1 May 2001_

Ozpin leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "Perhaps you'd like to explain yourself, Lieutenant Black."

Mercury Black looked from Ozpin to the other two people in the room—Glynda Goodwitch and James Ironwood. The latter reminded Mercury of his father, and Mercury hated his father. He vowed to himself that he would one day see everyone in the room dead, but for now, he had to maintain the masquerade. "I have no excuse, Captain. I had too much to drink, misinterpreted signals from Oberleutnant Schnee, and frankly, sir, I screwed up."

"You certainly did. You realize that you could be facing a court-martial for what you did. What you did to Oberleutnant Schnee could be considered sexual assault, and you certainly insulted three other fellow officers with appaling language." Mercury said nothing; he remained at attention. Ozpin sighed. "Nonetheless, Oberleutnant Schnee has informed me that she does not intend to press charges, and prefers to put this incident behind her. So we will try non-judicial punishment. Do you concur, Colonel Goodwitch? General Ironwood?"

Goodwitch gave a short, angry nod. Ironwood considered the young man before him. There was something in Mercury's eyes he did not like. "That depends on the nature of the punishment," he said darkly.

"Confined to quarters for thirty days except to eat, restricted to the base for sixty days, forfeiture of pay for two weeks, and a letter of reprimand on Lieutenant Black's permanent record. He will still be allowed to fly and participate in Vytal Flag activities, as it would be otherwise detrimental to his flight, and punish Captain Fall, Captain Sustrai, and Flying Officer Lionheart for something they had nothing to do with. He will also be permanently barred from the officers' club."

"Very well, Captain. That satisfies me." Ironwood knew that a letter of reprimand would kill Mercury's career; barring an action of extraordinary heroism, he would never be promoted, and would likely be eased out of the military altogether within a few years.

"Do you accept this punishment?" Ozpin asked. "Or would you like to proceed to a general court martial?"

"I accept the punishment, sir—no court martial necessary. And I apologize for my actions." Inwardly, Mercury wanted to laugh. He supposed if he really was a lieutenant in the USAF, it would be devastating, but since he wasn't, Ozpin's actions were little more than an inconvienence at worst. If Cinder's plan worked, Beacon wouldn't be standing in sixty days.

"See that you apologize to Oberleutnant Schnee and Captain Long instead. Personally. If no one has anything to add…" No one did. "Very well, then. These proceedings are closed. You are dismissed, Lieutenant." Mercury came to attention, did an impressively sharp about-face, and stiffly left the office.

* * *

He was surprised to see Ruby Rose standing outside, waiting. She pushed off the wall. "I think they're ready for you, Lieutenant."

"Thanks," Ruby said guardedly. Yang had told her what Mercury had called her.

"Hey, what I said in the club…" Mercury shrugged. "I didn't mean it. Just lost my head. I'm going to apologize to the rest of your flight, too." Much to his consternation, he found that he was actually being honest—he _was_ sorry about what he had called Ruby.

Ruby wanted to tell him where to stick it, but took a deep breath. After all, she had shot off her mouth more than a few times in the heat of the moment. "Well, um…apology accepted, Lieutenant. Weiss—Lieutenant Schnee is expecting you, but you might want to steer clear of my sister for a few days. She's got a bad temper…as you know."

Mercury chuckled. "Yeah. See you around."

Ruby took another deep breath, and walked into Ozpin's office.

* * *

Ozpin noticeably cheered up when he saw her. "Lieutenant Rose! Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, sir. Thanks for asking." She rubbed her wrists. "I'd feel better if I had actually hit something…and hadn't left the party in the paddy wagon."

"I apologize for that."

"It's okay, sir." Ruby shrugged. "I mean, I was the only one there with a gun. It makes sense."

"Have a seat," Ironwood said. Ruby did so. "Lieutenant, this isn't a board of inquiry. Your actions were a bit reckless, but understandable given the situation. You handled yourself very well." His finger tapped a sheet of paper on Ozpin's desk. "We've read the arresting officer's report last night. Is there anything you'd like to add to your statement?"

Ruby seemed a little confused, so Goodwitch asked, "You said the person was tall, female, and dressed in black. Are you certain she was alone? Did she look at all familiar?"

Ruby thought back to the night before. It had been dark, but she had good night vision; the problem was, whoever it was had been dressed entirely in dark clothes. "She was definitely alone…I mean, I didn't see anyone, but I suppose they could've gotten out earlier. But I got there pretty quick after following this woman from the park." In her mind's eye, she could see the woman point the pistol at her in the hallway and open fire. It had only been a standard issue nine millimeter, and at a distance, but seeing the barrel spit fire was worse than seeing Torchwick's missiles coming in her direction. Or at least as bad.

But there had been something. When she had fired the pistol, the muzzle flash had illuminated the woman's face for just a moment. "I think she had black hair. There was a strand hanging down over her eyes. It could've been a shadow, maybe, but I think it was there. She was also in really good shape…" Ruby thought Ironwood was the one who seemed confused this time, so she added, "She was pretty hot. I mean, I don't go for girls, but she had a smoking bod."

Goodwitch rolled her eyes, while Ironwood and Ozpin smothered grins. "What color were her eyes?" Goodwitch wanted to know.

"I think they were like a light brown. Kind of hazelish, amber. Not like a Faunus' eyes, though—not like Blake's, er, Lieutenant Belladonna."

Goodwitch nodded. "Well, that's something at least. We'll add that to the report when it goes to OSI."

"I think that will be all, Lieutenant," Ozpin said. Ruby stood, but then the Captain held up his hand. "Well, there is one more thing. You're out of uniform." He looked to Ironwood.

The big general smiled and reached into a pocket. "The paperwork was filed after the Lake Michigan battle, but it was approved the other day." He handed Ruby a small box. "Congratulations, 1st Lieutenant Rose."

Ruby opened the box. In it sparkled the silver bars of her new rank. "But I was brevetted…" She had actually been wearing the bars of a 1st Lieutenant for awhile.

"Now it's a permanent promotion, rather than just a wartime rank," Ozpin explained. "And there's also the matter of your awards. We'll have a formal ceremony in the next few days, because there's a number of medals to hand out, but it's only fair to tell you now, Lieutenant. For your actions against the air pirates, both over Ohio and Lake Michigan, you have been awarded the Air Medal and the Distinguished Flying Cross."

Ruby's eyes went wide. "R-Really?"

Ozpin nodded. "Mm-hm. Congratulations, Lieutenant."

"The others?"

"Oh, there will be some medals going to some other people, including your sister and Lieutenant Belladonna. Officially, Penny Polendina is a civilian, so there isn't anything for her than a pat on the back, but I'll leave it to General Ironwood to come up with something." _Weiss is going to feel so left out,_ Ruby mused. "Again, there will be an official announcement before long, but feel free to tell your friends. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Sir." Ruby came to attention, executed a superb about-face, and walked towards the door. She paused at it, however. "Captain Ozpin, may I ask a question?"

"Certainly."

"Do you think this attack is connected to the White Fang and Torchwick?"

It was Ironwood that answered, simply and directly. "Yes."

"That is not to be made public knowledge, Lieutenant," Ozpin said. "We trust you to be discreet."

"Yes, sir." Ruby left the office.

* * *

"Wow!" Yang exclaimed. She sat crosslegged on her bunk in her underwear. "Wonder what I got?" She stuck her toes in Blake's hair, between her ears. "Wonder what Blakey got?"

Blake pushed her away. "Gross! Don't put your nasty feet in my hair, Yang!"

"I just showered!"

"And, as usual, they overlooked the best pilot in Ruby Flight," Weiss sighed elaborately. Ruby walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. She had known Weiss long enough to know that the German girl was actually disappointed that she was not getting a decoration as well, but was nice enough not to let her disappointment show—and that she was genuinely happy for the rest of them.

There was a knock at the door, and Ruby got up to answer it. It was Nora. "Oh, hi!"

"Hey, Ruby!" She pointed to a fair-sized box on the floor. There were holes cut in the sides and roof. "This just came in on the Klong." The Klong was the C-130 that made the rounds through the bases. It was a Thai term that probably had originated in one of the several wars fought in Southeast Asia, but no one knew why it stuck. "It's for you. Sign here, please." She handed Ruby a clipboard.

"What do they got you delivering packages for, Nora?" Yang asked.

"Punishment. Seems we're not supposed to be playing songs like _I Wanna Sex You Up_ at formal military dances. Colonel Goodwitch was pissed." Nora shrugged. "Worth it. Well, except for what happened to you, Weiss."

Weiss also gave a shrug. "I'm over it."

"Want me to break his legs? I'm totally willing to get busted down to 2nd looey." They weren't sure if Nora was serious or not.

"Not necessary," Weiss told her. "He told us he got a nice little letter of reprimand for it. His career is over."

"Should've gotten a Big Chicken Dinner for it." Ruby translated the slang in her head: a BCD, or Bad Conduct Discharge. In actuality, officers could not get a BCD, but once more, Nora seemed to regard military regulations as being guidelines and mere suggestions. The box rattled, which caused Ruby to jump a bit. "Well, guess I'd better get going," Nora said. "Enjoy."

"Hey, Nora." Yang's eyes sparkled with devilment. "You get lucky with Ren?"

In actuality, Nora had merely enjoyed a nice, long kiss with her beau to top off the night, as they had been pretty tired at the end of it, but she wasn't going to let Yang know that. She merely winked, then walked off, a little bowlegged and wincing in faux pain. Yang wasn't fooled, but she laughed anyway.

* * *

Ruby dragged the box in and shut the door. "Wonder what the heck this is?" She checked the shipping label. "Huh. It's from Dad."

Yang hopped off the bed. "And it's got airholes." She and Ruby looked at each other, realization dawning. "You don't think…"

Now Weiss and Blake were on their feet as Yang and Ruby tore open the package. It revealed a small pet carrier, and as Ruby opened the door, a black and white corgi shot out like a cannonball. It jumped into her arms, nearly knocking her over, and began licking her face.

"_Zwei?"_ Yang said in amazement. At the sound of his name, Zwei kicked his short paws and tried to get from Ruby to Yang. Yang grabbed the dog under his ears and kissed his snout. He yipped happily.

Blake leapt backwards as if Zwei was a bomb. She was suddenly on top of Yang's bunk, ears laid back; she bit down on her lips to keep a hiss from escaping them. One part of her brain said this was stupid: she wasn't actually a cat, just a cat Faunus, and she outweighed Zwei about ten to one. The other part that was Faunus instinct wanted to leap out the window. "Your dad sent you a dog in the _mail?"_

"Oh, sure," Yang said. "He does that sort of thing all the time. One time he sent Mom a turkey with all the trimmings when she couldn't be home for Thanksgiving. Of course, the weather set in and she didn't get it for like three weeks. Mom said it was a little gamey." Blake turned a bit green at that.

"There was that time he fixed the faucet with duct tape!" Ruby laughed.

"And blew up the sink!" Yang giggled. "The Fixer strikes again!"

Weiss brought back their attention to the matter at hand. "We can't have an animal in the dorms!"

"Why not?" Ruby asked. "Is there a reg against it?"

Weiss opened her mouth, thought a moment, then sighed. "There isn't, but you're not going to tell me that I'll be living with some mangy, drooling mutt…" Zwei stopped panting, and looked up at her, with his sad, dark eyes. If Weiss had truly been an Ice Queen, she would have melted on the spot. "…forevah and evah?" She reached out and scratched behind one of the corgi's ears. "Oh yes! Yes he is! He's a good doggie! So cute," Weiss cooed. Zwei leaned into her hand.

Blake climbed down from Yang's bunk. "Just keep that thi—keep him away from me."

Yang thrust Zwei at Blake. "But he likes you too, Blakey!" Zwei barked, as if in agreement.

Blake's hair actually raised. "That's…that's nice."

Yang decided to save Blake from imminent Zwei cuteness. "You'll have to get acquainted later. It's almost 1200. We're supposed to be at Hangar One."

"Think he'll be okay here?" Yang asked.

Ruby was rooting around in the box. "Sure!" She brought out a water dish, a bag of canned dog food and a can opener. "We'll feed him when we get back!" She hurried over to the sink and filled the dish, and left it on the floor. Yang set Zwei down, and he waddled over to the dish to drink.

Three of them left, with Weiss still starry-eyed and talking nonsense to the dog. Blake was the last to leave. Zwei looked up at her, and Blake tried to stare him down; it was a losing contest against puppy eyes. "If you shit on anything in here," she warned, "I swear I'll eat you."

He barked, and Blake hastily retreated.

* * *

_Hangar One_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1 May 2001_

It was a rather nice day, and to take advantage of it, the chairs were set up outside, on the tarmac. Spring seemed finally to have taken hold in Wisconsin. All of the pilots took seats, and inevitably remained with their flights. It amazed Ruby how people that not even a month ago could not have identified each other without the help of a nametag on the uniform now knew each other as intimately as lovers. It was one thing for her to be able to tell when Yang was in a flirty mood or in a rotten mood, but now she knew when Weiss was homesick, and when Blake was moody. She suspected it was the same way with the other flights, and also that it meant Vytal Flag was doing exactly what it existed for. Ruby did notice that Coffee Flight was missing. She also noticed that Creamer Flight was there, including Mercury Black. He glanced in Ruby's direction, but looked straight through her, as if she wasn't even there.

Almost as soon as Ruby had taken her seat, Glynda Goodwitch mounted the dais, and barked "All rise! Commanding officer present!" Ruby shot back to her feet with the rest, coming to attention.

Ozpin and Goodwitch exchanged salutes, and then he stood, feet apart, cane behind his back, in front of them. "Good afternoon," he said. "Be seated." He waited a moment until the pilots took their seats in a scrape of metal chairs and shoes, then began. "On this date, 38 years ago, the Third World War—the most destructive war in the history of mankind—ended. We have rebuilt, we have fought many more wars, with each other and with the GRIMM, but today, this year, we largely stand united as one people. We may be different species, different genders, different colors, different faiths, different creeds, even different orientations as to who we love, but we are, in the end, all people who live on this one, small planet.

"But this bond cannot exist without peace. Humans and Faunus may enjoy peace, but there are threats out there, as there were in the past, both human, Faunus, and GRIMM. George Orwell is said to have written, 'People sleep peaceably in their beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.' Ladies and gentlemen, _we_ are those rough people, and we must stand ready indeed.

"In a week, we will be welcoming people from all over the world to Vytal Flag. Already, we have people here from the United States of Canada, Germany, France, Greece, United China, Malaysia, Spain, Iraq, Japan, Israel, and Italy. In a week's time, we will expand that to include Turkey, Lebanon, Egypt, the Republic of Korea, and Jordan. For the first time, Vytal Flag exercises will be broadcast live to the people of the United States, and recorded for the rest of the world." Ozpin smiled, but Ruby noticed the smile did not quite make it to his eyes. "I suspect some of you may become something like celebrities." His eyes flitted over Pyrrha Nikos for just a moment.

"But before we demonstrate our abilities to the world and show what rough men—and women—can do, there is still one more aspect of your training that you need to accomplish, one that is not for the cameras to observe, but one far more important. For the next week, each flight will be shadowing a superior officer on a Huntsman or Huntress flight. You will be flying the furthest combat mission you have ever flown…into the Dead Zones. Rather than flying simulated combat, or patrolling the Barrier, you will be going into the very lair of the GRIMM. You will be going into their territory, but you will not be fighting them according to their rules—but yours.

"Each flight has been assigned to an instructor. Because we have a number of flights and a limited amount of Huntsman/Huntress trained instructors, some of you may have to wait in line, as it were. If you are one of those flights, you will still get your chance—never fear." There was some scattered laughter at that. "At the moment, Coffee Flight is already on their mission, with Lieutenant Colonel Peach. If all has gone well, they should be returning tomorrow morning. We will make the announcements for each flight, but first, there are some administrative matters we must take care of."

For the first time, Ruby noticed that there was a table set up on the dais, and saw that Goodwitch, who had disappeared during Ozpin's speech, had returned with a briefcase. She opened it, but Ruby could not see what she was taking out of it.

Ozpin checked to see that Goodwitch was ready, then turned back to the crowd. "Will the following pilots please come up to the dais: 1st Lieutenant Ruby Rose, Captain Sun Wukong, Captain Yang Xiao Long, Major Pyrrha Nikos, Lieutenant Jaune Arc, and 1st Lieutenant Blake Belladonna." All of those called looked at each other in question, then realization dawned for Ruby. It had to be the medals. Ozpin wasn't waiting. Curiously, he shuffled Blake to the end of the line.

All six of them came up to the dais and stood at attention. Ozpin walked to Ruby; Goodwitch took up position behind her commanding officer. Ozpin's voice was loud and clear; he needed no microphone. "1st Lieutenant Ruby Rose, on the recommendation of your superior officers and in the presence of your peers, you are hereby awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal, for your actions against the Torchwick Air Pirate Gang on 11 April 2001 and on 19 April 2001." He opened the medal cases one at a time and pinned the medals on her tunic. Ruby looked down at them and felt tears welling in her eyes. The DFC was a stylized gold propeller against a golden cross, beneath a mostly blue ribbon. The Air Medal showed a diving eagle, also in gold, clutching lightning bolts, against a sun, also underneath a mostly blue ribbon. She forced herself to fight back the tears and saluted Ozpin, who returned it with a smile. "Where you are," he whispered to her, "I once was. Where I am, you one day will be." She nodded. All she could think of was a vision of Summer Rose, a barely remembered sight of her mother wearing her dress blue uniform. Summer had five DFCs and eight Air Medals. _Wish you could see me, Mom,_ Ruby thought.

Ozpin went down the line. Sun got a Bronze Star with V Device; the Bronze Star was uncommon, but the V Device meant that it had been awarded for conduct under fire, and therefore had more cachet among military people. Yang beamed when she got her DFC, and grinned hugely at Ozpin when she saluted him. Pyrrha and Jaune also got DFCs; Pyrrha actually already had three, but it was the European Union version, and this was her first American one. She smiled, and for once Ruby saw that her smile was not tinged with sadness. Jaune looked as if he was going to pass out, and wore a silly smile. When Ozpin turned away for a moment, Jaune caught Ruby's eye. _Wow,_ he mouthed.

"We've saved the best for last," Ozpin announced when he reached Blake. "Lieutenant Belladonna, originally you were to be awarded the Silver Star for your actions on 19 April 2001. However, your subsequent willingness to volunteer for a highly risky flight over the Ohio Dead Zone on 23 April, and your successful execution of that mission, led the United States Navy to reconsider the award. On the recommendation of myself and other members of the US government, it was decided to award you a different medal." He reached behind him, opened a case, and took out a gold Maltese cross, with a sailing ship in the center, under a dark blue and white ribbon. It was no larger than Ruby's Air Medal, but her mouth went dry. Blake's eyes widened and she gasped involuntarily.

"By the decision of the Navy and with the approval of your commanding officers, you are awarded the Navy Cross—_Captain_ Blake Belladonna." Ozpin pinned the medal above Blake's left breast, took a step back, and saluted her. Blake, after a second of stunned hesitation, returned the salute. The Navy Cross was second only to the Medal of Honor.

There was silence in the crowd, which were just as stunned as Blake. Then Weiss jumped to her feet and began clapping. Nora and Ren were second, and then everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping. Somehow Blake held it together, but Ruby, her own eyes still misty, saw the tears streaming down Weiss' face in happiness for her friends.


	44. Love's Been a Little Bit Hard On Me

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A relatively short chapter, one I'm very proud of. I figured it was high time Blake let someone in Ruby Flight know about Adam...and naturally, that someone is Yang. Since RT has yet to give us much background in Blake and Adam's relationship, some of what I wrote in this chapter is based on the DC Comics RWBY #2 (which talks about how they met) and my own ideas of what happened between them. And yes, there's some big time Bumblebee in this chapter._

_Also, I hadn't realized when I named my last chapter "Pomp and Circumstance" that it was also the name of the latest RWBY episode! In case you haven't figured it out, all my chapters are named for songs or musical pieces._

* * *

_Hangar One_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1 May 2001_

"Return to your seats, please," Ozpin told them, and the six went back to their flights. Nora hugged Jaune and Pyrrha, while Weiss playfully flicked at Ruby's two medals. Ruby barely noticed Ozpin reading the instructor assignments to the other flights, but her ears perked up when Ruby Flight was mentioned. "Ruby Flight," Ozpin said, "you are assigned to Professor Oobleck."

"Oobleck?" Yang wondered aloud.

Ozpin heard her. "Yes, Professor Oobleck. He may be better known in the classroom now, but he is still a qualified pilot. He will meet you at Dispersal A at 0500 tomorrow morning. Though he is a civilian contractor, you will treat him as your commanding officer." Yang sank a little in her seat; Ozpin's tone brooked no argument.

After fielding a few questions, Ozpin dismissed them. "The Officers Club is open, and I encourage you to properly congratulate our awardees today. However, remember that you fly in the morning, hangover or not. Also, there will be no carrier landings—" he looked at Ruby "—and especially no naked bar dancing." He turned the look on Nora, and ignored her "Awww".

As they left the area, Blake put a hand on Yang's arm. "Yang, if you have a few minutes, could I talk with you?" she whispered, making sure Weiss and Ruby were occupied.

"Sure. Weiss, Rubes, Blake and I got to head back to the dorm real quick. We'll meet you there."

"Certainly." Weiss gave them a curious look, but she did not stop them; Ruby was too engrossed in talking to Sun about her four-kill day against Torchwick's gang.

* * *

Instead of going back to the dorms, Blake led Yang along the flightline. The ground crews were hard at work getting aircraft ready for tomorrow's round of flights. "What's up?" Yang asked.

"Before the dance, when we had that argument…"

Yang waved it off. "Water under the bridge, Blake. Hell, I'd forgotten about it."

"I haven't. Mainly because Weiss was right, and so were you. We made a pact that there wouldn't be any secrets in Ruby Flight. No lies, no half-truths."

"Okay."

Blake couldn't meet Yang's eyes. "Ruby asked why I was so scared of the pilot in the forward-swept aircraft. It's a custom job, by the way; a modified F-5 called the Moonslice. But the pilot, well…" Blake took a deep breath, missed a step. "You see…he's sort of…my ex."

Yang stopped, forcing Blake to the same. "Wait. You were _married?_"

"What? No!" Blake winced. "God, no. Ex-boyfriend."

Yang whistled. "Small world."

"Not that small." Blake kept walking. They were past the dispersal areas, and climbed a hill that would serve to deflect bombs from hitting the dispersal. It also gave a great view of the entire base. Both stopped to look: it was certainly an impressive lineup of different aircraft. "His name is Adam Taurus, and if he's here, it's because he's here for me."

"Is he hot?"

Blake growled. "Yang, can't you be serious for five minutes?"

"Sure, but why?" At the anger beginning to appear on Blake's face, Yang put her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay." She sat on the berm, pulled up a piece of grass, and started nibbling on it. "So this Adam Taunus—"

"Taurus. Like the bull. He's actually a bull Faunus; he's got horns." She leveled a finger in Yang's face. "Don't you dare say it. I need you to be serious, Yang."

"Fine." Yang moved a hand down her face, as if changing her expression manually. "I'm serious now."

"Good." Blake sat as well and drew her knees up to her chin. "Okay, because you're going to ask, I might as well tell you the whole story. We met at a White Fang rally, right after Sienna Khan took over from my father. He had just returned from a raid, probably on the Schnee company. They took some losses, and I found him crying about it. He tried to look so tough, like the fearless freedom fighter—he even wears a mask to hide a scar-but he cried over losing his friends."

"That's not weird," Yang put in. She thought about how she would feel if something happened to Weiss. Or Blake herself. The thought made her smile a little. How close they had become in a short time.

"It wasn't. He asked if I was afraid of him. I wasn't. I was intrigued by him. I saw the man behind the mask, and I liked what I saw." Blake chuckled. "And yes, Yang, he was hot. Very much so."

"Let me guess. He was your first."

"First kiss, first boyfriend, first lover. He even took me up for my first flight." Blake shuddered at the memory, and not from fear. "He was like a drug, Yang. I couldn't get enough. It wasn't the sex—though that was great, too—it was everything. He was like a knight from the fairytales. I was head over heels in love, and he loved me back, just as strong. My parents warned me that Adam was bad news, but I didn't care. We…" Blake searched for the right word. "We _consumed_ each other."

"Sounds great so far." Though her father was not aware of the fact, Yang Xiao Long was no longer a virgin, and hadn't been for some time. Yang, however, had never found a steady boyfriend, and contented herself with the occasional one-night stand and friends-with-benefits. To have that sort of love for another person was something Yang had never experienced, and when she was honest with herself, never expected to.

"It was. But like my father likes to say, what can't continue won't." Blake sighed. "I didn't even notice it at first. We were so much in love…but I didn't notice how fanatic he was getting. Sienna was feeding him, of course, because she needed a blunt instrument and Adam was it…but the insanity was always there. It didn't make a difference how many Faunus prisoners we freed or how many mines we blew up, it was never enough for Adam. He wanted more. If we killed six, he wanted to know why we hadn't killed ten.

"And I was a damned idiot, Yang." Blake sighed again, longer and harder than the first time. "I thought it was me. I thought I was weak, that I couldn't make the sacrifices necessary for the cause. That's what he told me. I needed to be tougher. Some random Schnee Company guard, just a working guy whose only sin was taking a security job in a factory? Sure, we could've just tied him up or told him to run or die. It wasn't even enough to put a bullet between his eyes. Adam had to cut his throat and watch the poor man bleed out. I told him, 'Adam, we can't do this. We're _creating_ more hatred for the Faunus than we're halting.' And he would just turn on me and say 'Quit being such a weak sister.' And I'd believe him. I tried not to kill, Yang. I really did. And I usually succeeded. And every time, Adam would tell me how weak I was. How _human._"

"Sounds like you need Nora to break his fucking legs," Yang told her.

"There were times _I_ wanted to break his fucking legs. In the three years we were together, I can't tell you how many times I wanted to shoot him. But every time, he'd do something nice for me—buy me a new bow for my hair, or just say a funny thing. He can be so damn charming, Yang. His favorite tactic was to just stare at me up and down, from my ears to my toes. Next thing I know, our clothes are off and he's making love to me—anywhere we were. It worked every time, and I'd forgive him…until the next time he killed someone or belittled me."

"What a shithead."

Blake felt tears in her eyes, and rubbed them away angrily. "He didn't start off like that, Yang! He was so kind. I was his first too. He was nervous just kissing me the first time. The first time we slept together, he slipped and fell off the bed. He wrote me poetry, for heaven's sake…really crappy poetry, but it was for me! Then he just became…something. So gradual I didn't notice, because I didn't want to...maybe he was always like that, but I didn't want to see…" Now Blake was crying, despite herself. She slammed a fist into the unyielding ground, then against her knees. "Stop it, you fucking candy ass!" Blake sobbed at herself. "_Stop it!_ God, I'm so useless…crying over this shit…crying over_ him…"_

Yang reached out and gathered her friend into a hug. Blake bawled into her shoulder. Her hands clasped and unclasped behind Yang's back, and occasionally even hammered into her friend's shoulder blades without meaning to. Yang took it. _Go ahead,_ she thought, and wished she could say it aloud. _Hit me, Blake. I can take it. Hit me. Yell. Scream. Scream at this whole fucking world and how shitty it can be to a person who just wants to be loved._ Yang had done it herself, hitting her father so hard she left bruises, as she cried and screamed for a mother that never loved her and a mother that died loving her. She ran her fingers through Blake's hair, calming her as Taiyang Xiao Long had done to his daughters when the pain grew to be more than anyone could stand.

Finally, Blake began to run down. Yang's shoulder was wet with tears. "I'm sorry, Yang. I'm so sorry." Blake drew back, her face stained, though Yang's arms still were behind her. "I know I shouldn't cry."

"Why? Big bad Faunus Marine don't cry?" Yang laughed. "Nothing to apologize for, Blake. You needed to cry." On impulse, Yang leaned forward and kissed Blake on the brow. "You're not useless. You're a good person, Blake."

"No, I'm not. I've done things…"

Yang looked at her, lilac on yellow. "Do I have to rip off _The Lion _King and bonk you in the head like Ruby did?"

Blake moved out of Yang's embrace. "No. You're right. But that's why I have—why _we_ have to stop the White Fang. Not just to make up for what I've done. Sienna Khan doesn't want justice for Faunus, Yang. She wants to rule. And Adam won't stop. Even if something happened to Sienna, he wouldn't stop."

"No. He's gotten addicted to it. Not the killing, I don't think," Yang said. "The adrenaline. He doesn't care about Sienna's revolution; he just cares about keeping it going so he can get his fix. Even if the humans were defeated tomorrow, he'd find a new enemy to fight."

Blake stared at her strangely. "Who are you and what have you done with Yang Xiao Long? I didn't think you studied psychology." Yang rolled her eyes. "No, really. That's the best description of Adam Taurus I've ever heard."

Yang shrugged. "I speak from experience. Why the hell do you think I fly? The day I applied for flight school, Dad cried like a baby. He didn't want me ending up like Mom—like Summer Rose—in a pine box with nothing in it. But Summer took me flying when I was five, and I was hooked." Yang shook her head. "You know, when we were fighting that Nevermore, and it was right on my tail, and I was weaving in and out of those buildings…God, Blake. I've never felt more alive in my life!" Yang gazed wistfully at _Ember Celica,_ waiting expectantly in its hardstand. "Yeah, I can get adrenaline junkies, since I'm one too. And I bet I can get why he's here." She turned her attention back to Blake. "Since he can't have you, no one can."

Blake nodded. "He's obsessed with me, Yang. I told him I was leaving, probably a dozen times before I finally did. He never believed me. He said 'You'll come back. You always have.' And now that I really am gone, and he's realized I _won't_ come crawling back to him, he wants to find me and bring me back by force. And the really screwed up part? He still loves me. In his mind, this is what's best for me."

"And you still love him." Yang didn't make it a question.

"I love the Adam Taurus I fell in love with. I don't love the monster he's become." Blake got to her feet. "The problem is, Yang, I don't know I can take him if it comes to that. He's a hell of a good pilot. The best I've ever seen. Even in _Gambol Shroud,_ I don't know if I can beat him."

"He got a wingman?" Yang stood as well, brushing off dirt and grass from her thighs and bottom.

"If he does, it's just someone from the White Fang. Weiss shot down Adam's last wingman without too much trouble."

"Cool. Because if your ex comes at us, Blake, then he won't be messing with you. He'll be scrambling with all of Ruby Flight, alone, and either you, me, Ruby or Weiss will be putting a Sidewinder or an AMRAAM up his ass. Or twenty mike-mike, if I'm feeling sporting." She pointed at Blake. "And that's a fucking promise."

"I believe you." Blake smiled. "Huh. You know, I just wanted to clear the air and make you feel better, but I think _I'm_ the one who feels better." She wasn't sure what to do, so Blake hugged Yang. "Thanks."

"Nada. We all stick together in the theater." Blake looked a bit quizzical at that, and Yang laughed. "Something Dad likes to say." She began walking down the hill. "We have to fly tomorrow, but by all that's holy, I'm having a beer."

"I'll buy." Blake followed her.


	45. Destination Unknown

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Finally, some GRIMM killing action! Not much pause from here on out, as we build up to the finale of this story arc, and about five chapters worth of nonstop fighting._

_Oobleck's classic F-106 is painted in the same colors as the 120th Fighter-Interceptor Group (Montana Air National Guard), my old hometown's unit. The real F-106 could not carry Sparrow missiles; Oobleck's upgraded his._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_2 May 2001_

The sun was barely over the horizon as Ruby Flight walked to their aircraft—or at least Ruby, Weiss and Blake did. Yang staggered. She had woken up with the feeling of dwarf miners loose in her brain, pounding away with jackhammers. Now she was wondering who had issued the dwarves B-52s. "Oh, Goddd," she moaned.

"I warned you," Weiss reminded her. "And so did Blake."

"Blake drank as much as me! Damn Faunus, don't get hangovers…"

"I didn't drink as much as you. I had one beer." At Yang's questioning look, Blake said, "I was drinking water. You _assumed_ it was alcohol."

"Fuck you, Blake," Yang growled.

"In front of your sister and Weiss?" Blake winked at her.

Weiss made a show of being sick. Yang grinned at the German girl. "Fuck you too, Weiss." Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Not fuck you, Ruby. That's incest."

"She's fine," Ruby said sourly. Yang laughed, but nearly fell over from the pain. Blake laughed too, which caused Weiss and Ruby to grin. The Faunus seemed happy this morning, the happiest they had seen her.

Then Ruby stopped, so quickly Yang walked into her. Before she could ask why, Ruby was off in a blur of olive drab and reddish hair. "What the…" She followed Weiss' finger. "Oh."

Ruby skidded to a halt in front of the fighter, and her helmet bag clattered to the tarmac in amazement. "It's…a…"

Professor Bartholomew Oobleck came out from behind the aircraft, dressed in a new flight suit. "Ah, good morning, Lieutenant Rose!" He patted the side of the long, narrow nose. "You've probably never seen a F-106 before, have you?"

"Only in museums," Ruby drooled. She ran her hands over it. "F-106A Delta Dart. Fastest single engine fighter ever built. Can go Mach 2.3. Last of the Century Series. Delta wings. Oh, it's beautiful." She ducked under the low delta wing. "You've even got the Six Shooter package!" She patted the fairing beneath the F-106's internal weapons bay, underneath which was the six barrels of the M61 Vulcan twenty millimeter gatling cannon. Ruby came out from under the wing, and ran her hands over that, too, with all the intimacy of touching a lover. "I didn't think there were any left flyable!"

"This is the last one," Oobleck told her. He tapped the large USAF insignia on the fuselage—the older, prewar one with a star in the center rather than the Canadian Maple Leaf.

The rest of Ruby Flight arrived. "This is a relic. A beautiful one," Weiss hastily added, as Oobleck and Ruby both turned furious eyes on her.

"I'll have you know that I can give a F-15 a run for its money in this." Oobleck pointed to the wings. "This is a special aircraft, only brought out for special occasions, such as when I take out prospective Huntsmen and Huntresses out on missions."

"Oh wow!" Ruby touched the missiles slung outboard of the thin external fuel tanks. "You've got Sparrows!"

"And the radar of the F-15 in the nose," Oobleck added.

Blake inspected the tail. It was a throwback to the old days, when markings were as gaudy as possible, before everyone had gone more subdued. Some of the air defense units still carried full color markings—such as Ruby's original squadron—but it was rare now. The tail of the F-106 carried bright blue stripes and white-trimmed blue triangles on the rudder. "'Montana, Big Sky Country,'" Blake read. "Where's that?"

Oobleck turned somber. "I was born there. It no longer exists. Not as a state."

"The nuclear exchange, Professor?" Weiss asked.

"No, it was overrun by GRIMM. But I wanted to preserve history." He took two steps forward and bent over into Weiss' face. "And that's _Doctor_ Oobleck, Oberleutnant. I didn't get a Ph.D for fun, you know." Before Weiss could do anything but stammer an apology, Oobleck straightened up. "Well, enough admiring my aircraft. Chop-chop, ladies! We're already three minutes behind. Shall we get into the air?"

"Should we bring anything?" Blake wanted to know. "I mean, we're going to be gone for a day or two, right?"

"To quote the Bible, Lieu—ah, Captain Belladonna, 'take nothing for the journey—no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra shirt.'" Blake smiled at the reference to her new rank, and couldn't help but steal a glance at the double bars of a captain that now were on her flight suit. "I'll brief you in the air." Oobleck clapped his hands. "Four minutes now, ladies!" He mounted the ladder on the side of the big fighter.

* * *

Ruby Flight walked briskly towards their own aircraft, just beyond Oobleck's F-106. To their surprise, Juniper Flight was waiting for them. Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora and Ren were dressed in fatigues rather than flight suits. "Saving the world with Professor Oobleck?" Pyrrha asked. She seemed rather chipper as well.

"_Doctor_ Oobleck," Yang snickered, then sobered a little. "Okay, yeah…when you say it out loud, it sounds worse."

"You chose search and destroy, right? And you're not even taking us. I'm mad and sad at the same time." Nora let out an elaborate sigh. "Is there a word for that?"

"Smad," Ruby said. Weiss closed her eyes in actual pain.

Nora nodded. "Smad. I like it." Her stomach rumbled dangerously. "Oh, I'm hungry too." She looked at Ren, who pretended not to notice. Everyone knew there were pancakes in Juniper Flight's immediate future; Nora was good at wearing down her beau.

"So what did you guys draw?" Jaune asked.

"Search and destroy," Blake answered. "We're flying over the Minnesota Dead Zone up to some place called Fargo. Probably back by day after tomorrow…if everything goes okay."

"Same with us," Nora said. "We got Colonel Goodwitch. She's taking us over to Ellsworth tomorrow."

Suddenly there was nothing more to say. The eight friends looked at each other, as all of them abruptly realized that it could be for the last time. "Good luck," Ren said finally.

"You too," Weiss replied.

The flights parted, and then Ruby Flight broke up to go to their respective aircraft. Ruby gave Yang a quick hug and ran to her F-16. Oobleck's F-106 was spooling up, shattering the morning quiet with a roar.

* * *

Yang climbed into _Ember Celica,_ after a quick preflight. A full load of AMRAAMs and Sidewinders hung off her aircraft, and she patted the kill marks below her canopy. If she had her way, there would be more by the end of the day. Her crew chief helped her strap in, then pulled the ladder away as Yang dropped the canopy. A quick look over the instruments, a few pushes of buttons to program the inertial navigation system, then a slow push up of the throttle to get the engines going. Satisfied all was in order, Yang gave the chief the order to pull the wheel chocks. The ground crew did so, and Yang taxied out of the hardstand; she returned the chief's smart salute. Yang tapped the brakes and waited for Ruby to taxi out in front of her. Behind her, in the rearview mirrors set into the canopy bow, she saw Weiss and Blake take up position behind her. Once Ruby was moving ahead, Yang followed, using one hand to control the aircraft and the other to fasten her oxygen mask securely. She settled into the ejection seat, trying to adjust it so her hair wasn't caught between her back and the seat; whereas both Blake and Weiss pinned up their hair under their helmets, Yang refused to hide her blonde locks.

"Ruby Flight is cleared to Runway 03 Right," Beacon Tower radioed them. "Hold for departing F-106."

Yang watched as Oobleck's fighter—which was even larger than her F-15—took up position on the runway. Purple and orange shock diamonds streamed from the engine as he ran it up to power, then the old Delta Dart shot forward. In seconds, in a roar Yang could hear even through her helmet, it was in the air and climbing.

"Beacon Tower, Ruby Lead," Yang heard her sister radio. "Request Viking Departure."

Yang grinned beneath her oxygen mask. "Hot damn, Rubes."

"Ruby Lead, Beacon. Cleared for Viking Departure. Winds out of the west at ten knots, ceiling unlimited. Good hunting."

Ruby's F-16 taxied into position, and much like Oobleck, the afterburner roared. Weighed down with missiles and drop tanks, _Crescent Rose_ did not quite accelerate and takeoff like the F-106 had, but it was still an impressive sight.

Now it was Yang's turn. Her heart pounded in anticipation. Nothing climbed like a F-15; the Viking Departure had been invented for Eagle drivers. She kept her feet on the toe brakes as she ran up her throttle. Behind her, the twin Pratt and Whitney engines shook _Ember Celica_ and Beacon itself. Then she released the brakes, and the F-15 shot forward as if it had been catapulted. Yang watched the speed build up, then pulled the stick back into her stomach. She felt the landing gear leave the runway and quickly reached out to raise it, before the acceleration either locked the gear in place or tore it free of the aircraft. Now aerodynamically clean, Yang stood _Ember Celica_ on its tail and climbed. Behind her, the runway and Beacon fell away rapidly. She felt the G-forces shove her back into her seat and laughed aloud as she went through 15,000 feet only seconds after leaving the ground. _The Viking Departure,_ Yang thought. _A soul rises to Valhalla…or something like that. Woo doggies! This is better than sex._ Yang laughed to herself. _ Which doesn't say much for my sex life, I suppose…_ Her hangover disappeared as if by magic.

"Put her on the roof, Yang!" she heard Ruby say.

The sky darkened, and Yang rolled out at 45,000 feet, with Ruby below and to her left. Below her, the green forests of Wisconsin spread out, and she could see all the way to Lake Michigan. Her eyes caught the gray delta of Weiss' Typhoon climbing to meet her, followed by Blake's Tomcat.

"Quite impressive, Ruby Flight," Oobleck radioed. "However, we will be flying at 35,000 feet today. Join up on me, if you please."

* * *

Ruby Flight descended and took up an expanded box formation, with Oobleck taking up position in front of them. "Ruby Flight, come left to 130 degrees. I have the lead. Noses cold and switch to channel four." The five aircraft gently turned to the northwest. Before long, the forests of Wisconsin gave way to the muddy brown of the Mississippi River. "Pinetree Control, Oscar Oscar," Oobleck radioed. "Clearing barrier."

"Roger, Oscar Oscar," Pinetree replied. "Weather is clear. Your code is Applejack. Best of luck; Pinetree out."

_Now we're in Monster Country,_ Yang thought to herself. She was automatically quartering the sky, mainly to the rear and left, and watching her spacing with Blake. Out of habit, she had let Blake lead their section, where she could use the Tomcat's undernose TCS to watch the sky. It was a beautiful day, with just a few cumulus clouds. Something nagged at Yang. "Oscar Oscar—"

"You can call me Oobleck up here, Yang," he said.

"With all due respect, sir, I didn't think you were a fighter pilot."

Oobleck laughed. "I admit that I see myself nowadays as more of an intellectual, but trust me, I have seen more than my share of dogfighting. I flew F-106s and F-4s against GRIMM in the 70s and 80s. Things were…somewhat tougher then."

Yang could imagine. No helmet sights, no fire-and-forget missiles like the AMRAAM, aircraft nowhere near as maneuverable or with the all-around vision the "teen" fighters like the F-14, F-15 and F-16 had. When radars were so bulky they took two people to operate effectively, and you had to stay locked on while the missiles guided—assuming they worked at all—while the GRIMM flew rings around you and swarmed the defenders. Oobleck's survival said a lot, and she remembered Goodwitch talking about Ozpin's Medal of Honor. _Six Nevermores!_ Yang shook her head in wonderment.

"Besides," Oobleck continued, "given my expertise in history as well as my dabblings in archaeology, our dear commanding officer saw fit to give me this particular assignment."

"What's history got to do with it?" Weiss asked.

"What a preposterous question, you silly girl!" Oobleck chided. Yang stifled a laugh; she swore she could see Weiss bristle even from this distance. "History is the backbone of society! And the liver. Probably the kidneys as well."

_Crap,_ Yang thought. _He would mention kidneys._ It abruptly reminded her that she had forgotten, in the midst of her hangover, to use the bathroom before they left. There was a relief tube in the F-15, but it wasn't really designed for females.

"I'll give you an example," Oobleck said. "Look over to your left, at nine o'clock low. Besides the radioactive ruins of the Twin Cities, that's also the location of a more recent failure."

"Mountain Glenn," Blake remarked.

"Very good!" Oobleck approved.

"And a possible hideout," the Faunus girl added.

"Precisely," Oobleck agreed. "We may have to check it out when we get back, but for now, change course to 150 degrees." The formation began to turn slowly west, skirting the ruins of Minneapolis-St. Paul.

Another ten minutes passed in silence. It was Ruby who broke it. "Oobleck, are we looking for anything in particular?"

"Not in particular, Ruby," Oobleck replied. "Search and destroy. This route was chosen because our friends in the AWACS thought they detected GRIMM in this area the other day. Now there are various explanations for this activity, but one of them is, oh, GRIMM."

There was another pause as Ruby Flight wondered why Oobleck would state the blindingly obvious. "Er…say again—" Ruby began, but Oobleck interrupted her. "Tally-ho. Beowulf at eleven o'clock low, going away." Four more pairs of eyes instantly went to that sector. Yang caught movement, but could not pick the GRIMM out.

"I got him!" Ruby sang out, and the F-16 began to dip and turn to fire.

"Hold formation and leave your radar off!" Oobleck snapped. "It's a single. We wait. We track. We'll see if he leads us back to his pack."

"How long do we wait?" Blake asked.

"It's uncertain, Blake. Lone Beowolves have been known to fly around for weeks without their pack—and never mind, because there's the pack, twelve o'clock low. Near the big lake." Yang saw them: an arrowhead formation of eight Beowolves. Her map display told her the lake was Leech Lake.

"And now they've detected us," Oobleck stated. He sounded bored. Yang watched as the formation turned as one and began climbing towards Ruby Flight. She checked her altimeter. They were at 35,000 feet; Beowolves could not get above 30,000, but they could shoot their missiles from that range.

"I take it we're not tracking them!" Ruby exclaimed.

"An accurate assumption."

"What's the plan, boss?" Yang asked. She switched on her radar and her hands tightened on throttle and stick.

"Splash them all, of course," Oobleck answered. "Break and attack. Show me what you're capable of, Ruby Flight. I'm holding high."

They needed no more encouragement. Without further orders, Ruby Flight split into its two sections and dived.

* * *

"Yang, split right; I'll come in from the left," Blake ordered. They were the same rank now, but Blake had the lead and she would give the orders to start off with.

"Roger that, I got the lead Beowulf." Yang shifted off to the right as Blake's F-14 passed over her. The Beowolves split their formation as well, three going towards their section and five towards Ruby and Weiss, who were closer to the GRIMM. It then split again: two turned to engage Blake while one stayed head-to-head with Yang. The closure rate was now nearly a thousand miles an hour; Yang switched from AMRAAMs to Sidewinders, heard the missile growl as the heat sensor locked onto the Beowulf, and fired. The Beowulf fired a second later, and Yang dived, leaving burning flares in her wake. As she rolled out, the GRIMM missiles chasing flares, she saw the falling, burning remains of the Beowulf. "Yang, splash one!"

Two of the GRIMM closed in on Blake, covering the distance just as rapidly as Yang and her kill had, and opened fire with their nose cannons. Had the Beowolves been able to think, they might have been surprised when their shells struck empty air. The Tomcat in front of them shimmered and disappeared. A second later, both Beowolves vanished as both of Blake's Sidewinders tracked into them. "Blake, splash two."

* * *

Ruby and Weiss followed the same tactic as their friends: Ruby split high and right, putting distance between herself and the Beowolves and setting up for an AMRAAM shot, while Weiss bored in. One Beowulf turned to engage Ruby; the remaining four accepted Weiss' challenge and faced her.

The younger Schnee looked at the four Beowolves approaching. Her helmet mounted sight locked onto all four, feeding information to the DUST system on her Typhoon's nose. "DUST," Weiss spoke calmly, "engage IRIS."

Four of the thin missiles salvoed from _Myrtenaster's_ wings. Weiss climbed and rolled as her own radar warning receivers told her the Beowolves had locked onto her, but the shrill note ceased abruptly as she broke lock. It also ceased because all four IRIS missiles hit their targets, leaving four expanding balls of flame and pieces falling towards the ground. Weiss flew over them as condensation exploded from the canards and wings of her aircraft, as she just touched the speed of sound. "Weiss, splash four."

There was one Beowulf left, and it locked onto Ruby. By the time its electronic brain processed the lock, it also processed that there was a missile headed towards it. The GRIMM broke off and dived, but the AMRAAM was not fooled by the maneuver. The last Beowulf exploded. "Ruby, splash one! Woo-hoo!"  
The entire battle had lasted forty-five seconds.

"Well done, Ruby Flight," Oobleck radioed. His F-106 was above them, in a lazy circle, his only concession to the battle was that he had increased his altitude to 40,000 feet. "Rejoin and take heading 120 at angels 35." He descended and the formation got back together at 35,000 feet, now heading northwest again.

Yang came down from the adrenaline rush. It never ceased to amaze her how fast air combat took. _That's four,_ she told herself, notching on her mental tally. _One more and I'm an ace. Heh. I need to catch up. Rubes has nine now, I think, and Blake's right behind with eight. And Weiss has…_ Yang keyed her mike. "Hey, I think Weissy just made ace."

There was silence for a moment as all four of Ruby Flight went through their own totals. "You're right," Blake said. "Guess she gets a medal now."

"Congrats, Weiss!" Ruby laughed.

Weiss didn't say anything for a moment, and then she just said "Huh." They could hear the emotion in her voice, though.


	46. Silent Running

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A somewhat quiet chapter this time around, but setting up for the huge battle that will finish out the story arc.  
_

* * *

_Over the Dunkelman Line_

_Manitoba, United States of Canada_

_2 May 2001_

They flew on for another thirty minutes, this time with radars on; if there were GRIMM, they almost certainly knew about Ruby Flight's presence; whatever mysterious computer network controlled them, they did seem able to communicate by some sort of datalink. But there were no other GRIMM around.

They made their way into Manitoba, over what was called the Dunkelman Line—the northern version of the Eberle Line in Iowa. Now they were clear of the Dead Zone, and passed New Winnipeg on their left, a walled fortress city that held tenaciously to the edge of the Dead Zone. Oobleck lead them northwest for another half an hour, then ordered them to turn around and head due south. They would follow the Red River to Fargo. To their surprise, Ruby Flight also heard him order a tanker. Yang checked her fuel gauge; she still had enough for another six hours of flight, if not more. Blake, Weiss and Ruby had dropped their external tanks when the battle had begun, but even on internal fuel there should still be plenty. They could easily make Fargo, and even fly back to Beacon. _Maybe Oobleck's just being safe,_ she thought.

They orbited while the tanker caught up to them; only in the direst of emergencies would tankers venture over the Dead Zones, and even then, it was discouraged. Yang saw the three-engined KC-10A Extender fly over them, then settle down to their altitude. "You first, Yang," Oobleck said. Yang almost protested that she had enough fuel to fly to the Pacific, but bit back her argument and slid into place. The refueling boom attached to the tail, below the third engine, dropped down.

Refueling in midair was routine; Yang had done it a hundred times, in every kind of weather. It could still be tricky. She opened the refueling door on her right wingroot and held the F-15 steady. About fifty feet above her, an enlisted boom operator "flew" the boom down.

"Yang," Oobleck abruptly said, "why did you choose this line of work?"

Yang lost her concentration for a fraction of a second, and dropped out of the boom's reach. She throttled back and got back into position. _Why the hell is he asking me that now? I'm busy._

"Green Anchor, hold refueling," Oobleck radioed. The refueling boom stopped moving. "Answer my question, Yang."

"Uh, okay. Well, to fight the GRIMM and save—"

"Green Anchor, resume," Oobleck interrupted.

_Oh, I get it. A test._ Yang smiled; this wasn't _that_ tough. "Like I said, it's to fight the GRIMM—"

"No, that is _what_ you do," Oobleck interrupted again. "I want to know the why."

"Okay." Yang brought her F-15 forward a bit. Just in front of the boomer's position on the tanker were two rows of light. They were mainly for night refueling, but she could use them in the daylight as well. The stripes on the boom also were a visual aid. "The honest reason? I get off on this shit."

"Contact," the boomer broke in. The boom slid home and connected with the refueling port. Now all Yang had to do was keep _Ember Celica_ steady in the tanker's slipstream, which wasn't that hard, either—at least in clear sky. Normally, Yang liked to joke around with the boomer and make bad sex puns. Aerial refuelling had more than a bit of a sexual aspect to it, with long probes going into holes, and joking about it was as old as the process itself. With Oobleck around, she decided it wasn't the best time.

"Care to explain that a little?" Oobleck said, though he sounded amused.

"I just want to see the world and get wrapped up in all kinds of crazy-ass adventures. And if I help people and kill GRIMM along the way, well, that's just the awesome icing on the super cake. It's a win-win, y'know?"

"I see."

"Disconnect," said the boomer.

"Yang's off." Her fuel tanks topped off, Yang dropped off the boom. She waved at the boomer, who waved back, and rolled off well to one side.

"Your turn, Weiss."

* * *

For Weiss it was a bit trickier. The Typhoon was European-designed, which meant that it did not use the USAF style boom-plug combination. Instead, the KC-10 streamed a long hose from a pod underneath its right wing, with a basket on the end. A probe popped out of the right side of the nose, and Weiss accelerated to catch up with the basket. Unlike the boom, which was rigid, the basket flopped around in the tanker's slipstream, which made the hookup a bit tougher. Yang snickered at the thought of Weiss hooking up, but as much as she wanted to say something, she stayed quiet.

Sure enough, Oobleck started in on Weiss. "And you, Weiss? A Schnee? A girl born into fame and fortune such as yourself doesn't need to be doing this job. You're certainly not in it for the money. Why risk your life when you could be sitting in a cushy staff position in Germany?"

Weiss closed the distance and caught the basket in a single try. "As you said, Oobleck: I'm a Schnee. I have a legacy of honor to uphold. The Schnees have always served. Once I realized I had a knack for flying and fighting, there was never a question of what I would do with my life. It was my duty."

"Ah, interesting."

Weiss was on the basket longer than Yang had been on the boom, but she had to take on more fuel. When she was done, the Typhoon disconnected, drifted back a bit, then turned hard to clear the way for Blake.

* * *

Yang watched Blake approach the basket. Her own aircraft shuddered a bit, as they hit a bit of clear air turbulence. It was nothing to worry about, but now the basket was going up and down more. The Tomcat's probe popped out of the right side of the nose as well; the Navy used the same style as the Europeans, though Americans would insist that the Europeans used the _Navy_ way of doing it. Yang did not envy Blake: flying the big F-14 and trying to refuel could not be easy. She had to be careful not to chase the basket, which could cause any number of bad things to happen, ranging from looking like an idiot to a midair collision. Yang remembered Neptune Vasillas once describing the process after one of Port's classes. He had compared it to trying to put a banana up a wildcat's rear end.

Yang shook off _that_ mental image. _Bad Yang,_ she told herself.

Now it was Blake's turn. "What about you, Blake?" Oobleck asked. "You seem to have a sense of purpose."

Blake chased the basket for a moment, then settled down. On her third try, she made contact. "There's too much wrong in the world to just stand by and watch it happen. Someone has to do something about it."

"Ah, Edmund Burke," Oobleck observed. "'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' Very good. How do you intend to do something?"

A sudden ridge of air caused the basket to go dangerously upwards, and Blake manipulated stick and throttle to keep from losing the basket, or worse, forcing a brute-force disconnect—which could leave the basket and hose wrapped around _Gambol Shroud's_ nose, or down an intake. Oobleck quieted, and Blake was able to recover the situation. "I don't know," she finally answered, "but I'm…damn this thing…working on it."

Finally they reached smooth air again, and Blake finished refueling.

* * *

To their surprise, Oobleck took on fuel next, then cleared Ruby in. Everyone listened intently for what Oobleck was going to say, but he said nothing. Ruby had no trouble refueling at all. She dropped off the boom, and Oobleck simply thanked the tanker crew for their help, then led them south again.

The trip from the tanker to Fargo was uneventful. Fargo had been untouched by the Third World War, but it had been overrun by GRIMM a few years after. Today it was nothing but deserted ruins, crumbling after years of harsh winters and lack of maintenance. The roads were empty, overgrown with prairie grass, but even a casual observer might notice that the runways of the former Hector International Airport were curiously clear of overgrowth; a more close inspection would find that the large "cracks" in the runways and taxiways was paint.

"Hector, Oscar Oscar. Code Applejack, repeat, Applejack," Oobleck radioed.

There was a second of silence, and then a new voice came over the radio. "Oscar Oscar, Hector. Roger Applejack. You are cleared into Runway 36 Left. Winds out of the northwest at 15 knots. Ceiling unlimited."

"Roger." Oobleck ordered Ruby Flight into trail, with each about five minutes apart from each other. He came in over the ruins of Fargo, over a dilapidated perimeter fence, and landed smoothly on the runway. A dragchute billowed out behind the F-106, slowing it down even more. Once Oobleck reached the end of the runway, he taxied off, trailing the now collapsed dragchute. Ruby, Weiss and Yang landed soon thereafter, and Yang followed Weiss onto the tarmac, near some rusting hangars. To her surprise, the hangar doors opened, and about fifty men and women swarmed out of one hangar to rapidly guide the five aircraft inside. The doors were shut almost as soon as Yang's tailplanes cleared them.

Inside, the hangar was clean and maintained. Yang shut down _Ember Celica_ and opened the canopy, letting musty air inside. She disconnected from everything—radio, G-suit, straps, oxygen—and climbed down a ladder placed there by the ground crew. "Good afternoon, Captain," a sergeant greeted her.

"Hi." She thumbed back at the F-15. "Check the tires and clean the windshield, okay?"

The sergeant smiled. It was an old joke. "No prob, Captain. We'll get you some new Sidewinders, too."

Yang joined the rest of Ruby Flight. "What _is_ this place?" Weiss was asking.

Oobleck pulled off his helmet. His hair was even more of a mess than usual. "This, Oberleutnant, is a very closely guarded secret. There are active bases scattered through the Dead Zones—at least the areas not in danger of radioactivity. The bases are kept secret so no one can betray their presence to air pirates…or other enemies." He motioned around the hangar. "Only a few buildings are occupied, and personnel stay out of sight as much as possible, so as not to attract GRIMM. There is a limited amount of fuel and weapons available here, but both are indeed limited—which is one reason why we took on fuel from the tanker on the way here." He waved them out of the hangar, as the ground crew began turning around the aircraft by hand.

They left the hangar, still indoors, and took an interior corridor to another building. The windows were boarded up; cracks between the boards revealed windows long since bleached into opaqueness. Inside the room were ten bunks, with sleeping bags rolled up on top of them. "Here is where we'll stay the night, ladies. Since I doubt any of you brought your pajamas with you, you'll have to sleep in your flight suits. That is my suggestion, in any case."

Weiss wrinkled her nose. "Are there showers?"

"Yes. Food will be delivered shortly. Don't expect anything gourmet. Lieutenant Rose, follow me."

* * *

Oobleck led her out of the building, through an empty but again well-maintained hangar, to a staircase. They went underground, took a few more turns before Ruby was thoroughly lost, and ended up at a steel door. Oobleck rapped on it, and the door opened to reveal an air policeman. Unlike at Beacon, this man was dressed in full battle gear, with urban-style camouflage, body armor, helmet, and a slung assault rifle. He came to attention. "Hello again, Doctor Oobleck."

"Ah, hello, Sergeant! The lieutenant and I would like to go up to the tower."

"Yes, sir, but be careful. We just spotted some GRIMM to the east."

"I will. Thank you. Come along, Lieutenant." Oobleck led her past the security man, up a long flight of spiral stairs, into a wide control tower. There were five people inside the tower, all wearing the same uniform as the air policeman, though none seemed armed. Then Ruby noticed the stacked assault rifles on a shelf. The interior of the tower looked like any other control tower she had been in, though it seemed more advanced. The windows were clear and clean, but noticeably thicker than just safety glass.

Oobleck waved her over, got down on hands and knees, and reached through a small opening. A female security forces airman backed out of the opening, rolling aside for Oobleck and then Ruby to crawl through. They ended up in what Ruby recognized as a hide, cleverly disguised to look like an extension of the tower. Perched on the edge and balanced on a fixed position was a .50 caliber sniper rifle, and a huge set of binoculars. "Which would you like?" Oobleck asked.

"I'll take the fifty!" Ruby replied happily, and laid down behind the weapon. The stock settled into her shoulder, she put a finger aside the trigger, and looked through the large scope.

"Hold your fire," Oobleck warned. "Do not fire that rifle unless ordered." Ruby moved her finger back a little. Her father had taken her and Yang hunting, and Ruby was actually a deadly shot; she had been meaning to qualify for the USAF's marksmanship ribbon. "Look to your left, about eleven o'clock." She remembered Taiyang Xiao Long's advice, and slowly moved the rifle; sudden movements attracted the eye.

Then she saw them. At first she thought the rifle's scope was distorting them, but a quick turn of the scope's focus, and she realized it wasn't. "What the…"

"Those, Lieutenant Rose, are GRIMM. Ground-based, rather than the aerial ones we're used to dealing with. Not exactly Ground _Launched,_ but no one felt like changing the acronym." Ruby glanced at him; Oobleck was staring through the high-powered binoculars. "I'm afraid your sniper rifle will do nothing more than agitate a GRIMM that size. They're codenamed Goliaths."

"Whoa." Ruby had heard of Goliaths, but had never seen one. They were gigantic, three stories high, walking on four articulated legs. The body was squared off, with a turret on top; through the scope, she could see machine guns in turrets front and rear, and below, but the turret was armed with a very large weapon. "What's it packing?"

"A 100 millimeter high-velocity gun. Three 12.7 millimeter machine guns. And armor thick enough to shrug off anything we're carrying. To take down a Goliath you need an A-10, or a tank." Oobleck pulled back from the scope. "We are lucky. Goliath wander around until something attracts them, or they're ordered somewhere—we don't know how. They heard the sound of our engines, and came to investigate. Luckily, they're still about a mile off, and across the Red River. While they can easily ford the river, now that there's not any noise, they will likely lose interest and wander off." He rubbed his hair, trying to get it into something that didn't look like he'd been electrocuted. "Goliath seem to have more of a self-preservation routine than most GRIMM. If they run into something stronger than they are, they will retreat. But before then, they will try to destroy everything they encounter."

"If they came over here…"

Oobleck laughed, humorlessly. "There are about seventy people here, Lieutenant. That sniper rifle is the largest weapon they have. Their assault rifles can kill Boarbatusks and Creeps, and enough of them can probably stop a King Taijitu or shoot down a Beowulf. But anything more than that, and they have to call in airstrikes. The closest base is Winnipeg, and they are thirty minutes away. These people here—they know what they face, and their chances of survival. But they are all volunteers."

"Why risk them out here?" Ruby asked.

This time Oobleck's laugh was a little more genuine. "A base like this is a godsend to a Huntsman or Huntress low on fuel, on weapons, or options. They can be your lifeline, Lieutenant, but you must realize that they risk their lives for you to _have_ that option. Do not abuse their courage."

Ruby thought about that for a minute, as Oobleck turned back to watching the Goliaths. Sure enough, the GRIMM began to move east, away from the base. "Doctor Oobleck?"

"Yes?" He did not take his eyes from the binoculars.

"On the tanker…you never asked me why I wanted to become a Huntress."

"Oh, that." He moved the binoculars around to face the south. "I already know, Lieutenant."

Ruby waited for more, but Oobleck was silent. Then she asked, "Okay. Why did _you_ want to become a Huntsman? Why did you quit?"

"Good questions, one I've been waiting for you to ask." Oobleck played with the zoom and focus. "What did you see of Fargo on the approach?"

"Ruins and empty streets." Ruby found the place creepy; a city of the dead.

"Mm. I see lives that could have been saved." He leaned back from the scope against the back wall of the hide. "When I was a Huntsman, flying as you and your friends do, it was my job to protect the people. It still is, but while I could've continued on with my career and fought our enemies with my aircraft, I thought I would have more of a lasting impact with my mind. As a teacher, I'm able to take knowledge—the most powerful weapon of them all—and place it in the hands of every student that passes through my classroom." He waved his hand towards the ruins of Fargo, unseen through the hide walls. "I look at this wasteland, and I do see lives that could have been saved, but I also see opportunity: opportunity to study places like this and learn from the tragedy of them, learn what we did wrong and we did right as human and Faunus, and therefore become stronger." He smiled at her. "I'm still a Huntsman in my own way, Ruby, and there's nothing else in this world I would rather be. Much like yourself."


	47. Eve of Destruction

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Nice, big chapter this time as we finally head into the "season finale" of On RWBY Wings. Everyone's going to be on deck for this fight._

_In this AU, Ironwood doesn't have artificial limbs, because technology in 2001 wouldn't quite give him what he has in canon RWBY. So he's just badly scarred. Earlier in the story, it was mentioned that Ironwood was injured during Operation Eagle Claw, the failed rescue mission of the American hostages in Tehran in 1980. (Which would mean that the radical Muslim Revolution of 1979 happened in this timeline as well.)  
_

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

James Ironwood stared out over the flightline. As a general, he was given the corner room of the two-story Visting Officers' Quarters; it was slightly larger than the regular VOQ room. He could have insisted on more, but Ironwood was never much for creature comforts. As usual, the tarmac was lit up, but half the hardstands were empty, with both Ruby and Coffee Flights gone.

There was a knock on his door. He went over and opened it a little. It was Glynda Goodwitch, dressed in her faded flight suit. "I saw your light on. May I come in?"

"Are you sure it won't harm your reputation?"

Goodwitch laughed. "I think I'll be fine." He let her in, and opened the room's small refrigerator as she closed the door. "Nightcap? Unless you're flying."

"Just got back in. I took the combat air patrol tonight; gave Creamer the night off. I was getting a little behind on flight hours. Don't want to lose my flight status." She nodded and smiled. "So yes, I would like a nightcap, at that."

Ironwood withdrew a small bottle of bourbon, and got two plastic cups off the counter. "I don't have anything to mix it with, but as I recall, you like yours neat." He shook some ice into the cups, then poured. He handed one cup to her. "Skoal."

"In your eye." She took a sip. "Not bad for BX booze." Goodwitch took another sip. "Why are you up so late? It's almost 2 AM."

"Between everything going on and my arm acting up, I couldn't sleep." Goodwitch's eyes flicked down automatically to Ironwood's right hand. Normally he wore gloves and long-sleeved shirts, but he was wearing a short-sleeved fatigue shirt tonight. His arm was slightly misshapen at the elbow, as if the bone had been broken and not healed right, and it was covered in bright red scar tissue. "There must be a cold front coming in. It always hurts like this when there is."

"There is. So because you couldn't sleep, you got up, got completely dressed, and decided to brood menacingly into the distance, like Napoleon before Waterloo."

"Let's hope not. He lost." Ironwood pointed down. "Besides, I'm not _completely_ dressed. I don't have any shoes on."

Goodwitch laughed despite herself, remembering her claim that Nora Valkyrie was not completely naked because her socks were still on. She took a longer sip of bourbon. It left a pleasant burning in her mouth. "So what's wrong?"

"Ozpin." He finished his own liquor. "There's something he's not telling us, Glynda. I've known and trusted the man for years, but there's something…just not right." He sat down on the bed. "And it's not just Ozpin. The Army and the CIA have been all over the Ohio Dead Zones for over a week now, and nothing. Torchwick and the White Fang have disappeared, and that's not like them. The CIA has completely lost track of Sienna Khan. Then we get that report of that smuggler's train…I just have to wonder."

Goodwitch finished her bourbon as well, and tossed the cup in the garbage. "The photos that Lieu—ah, Captain Belladonna took showed nothing."

"Or we don't know what to look for. You were involved in the evacuation of Mountain Glenn, right? Wasn't most of the settlement underground?"

"It was. And the few people who evacuated were the only survivors. Everyone else died in those warrens when GRIMM overran it." She saw where his train of thought was going. "It doesn't make any sense, James. Assuming Torchwick and the Fang somehow got across the entire Midwest without us knowing it, why set up shop so close to Beacon?"

"Maybe because it _is_ so close to Beacon. Remember that someone attacked us the night before last."

Goodwitch put a hand on his shoulder. "If it will make you sleep better, Barty Oobleck told me that he and Ruby Flight intended to do another flyover of Mountain Glenn on their way back from Hector this morning."

"I guess that's better than nothing. The Army's not going to send a team into the Twin Cities unless there's solid proof. I guess I can't blame them," Ironwood sighed. "There's GRIMM there, and radiation."

She bent forward and kissed his forehead. "You're a good person, James. You've always done what's best for the people, even when it cost you personally. But you've got to trust people—Ozpin, Calavera, me."

"I suppose." Seeing Goodwitch's very pleasant face gazing down at him, Ironwood tried a smile. "I don't suppose you would…"

Goodwitch started for the door. She knew that if she allowed Ironwood to finish his sentence, she _would_ stay. And that would open up an entire chest of feelings she had sealed away since that last night in Norway. "I can't, James, and you know why. Good night." She said it as gently as she could, but it was still a dismissal.

The door shut behind her.

* * *

_Covert Base Hector_

_North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Ruby Flight was gathered in the main hangar—or at least three of them were. Ruby was still asleep, and Yang, Weiss and Blake had decided to let her sleep. While the rest had turned in early, Ruby had volunteered to keep a watch with the base personnel. It hadn't been necessary, but Ruby had done it anyway. They sat in a corner of the hangar, on the floor.

Weiss opened up her MRE. She withdrew the packets and the heating element, and a pouch containing some sort of beverage. "What did you get?" Yang asked.

"Hashbrowns with bacon, peppers and onions. And some kind of brown sugar Pop-Tart and pound cake. And I guess this is fruit punch?"

"Bug juice," Blake supplied, using the Marine nickname for it. "I got the same thing. How about you, Yang?"

"Pork sausage patty. And a strawberry Pop-Tart! Oooh. Living large here. I have some orange bug juice."

"Trade you," Weiss offered.

"Deal, but I want the orange bug juice."

"Good enough for me."

They heated up their MREs, watching as the ground crew put the finishing touches on their aircraft. Sunlight streamed in through the high hangar windows. "Hey, Weiss," Yang mumbled around her Pop-Tart, which threatened to suck out every bit of moisture in her mouth. "Why do you think Oobleck asked us why we wanted to be fighter pilots?"

"To test us." Weiss was surprised to find the pork patty to be decent, if a bit chewy.

"Did you mean what you said?" Blake asked. "About honor and being a Schnee?"

"Yes." Weiss regarded Blake over her fruit punch. "The Schnee name did not begin with my father, and it won't end with him. We have always served Germany, even back when we were known as the von Schnees. His idea of service may be flawed, but I'd like to think mine isn't, and although initially I just wanted to serve Germany and prove myself…" She smiled at them. "I think I've learned a lot already about the world to know that I serve something far greater than just my country and my family. I'm going to make things right. If I had not learned to fly and was merely stuck overseeing Schnee business, I would not be doing that." She pointed her fruit juice at Blake. "What about what _you_ said?"

Blake sniffed a laugh. "I didn't say much. I was too busy trying to get that probe in the hole." She noticed Yang turning red. "What?"

"Nothing. These peppers have a kick."

Blake suspected Yang was lying, but ignored it. "Anyway, I've been thinking about it. All my life, I've been fighting for what I thought was right. Hell, it _is_ right. But I was going about it all wrong. I followed the wrong people, who didn't want justice, but revenge. And became the very things they supposedly hated." Blake thought of Adam, but was pleasantly surprised that she did not stumble over her words. The emotion was there, but it was muted. "So when I had to come here to hide, the government offered me anywhere as a cover. Well, I wanted to be a fighter pilot, because I love to fly, and I wanted to be a Marine, because they're regarded as noble, and the best." She shrugged. "I hope I've lived up to that, but I'm not really sure what I want to do after Vytal Flag is over."

"Like you said, you're working on it," Weiss said. "You're not one to back down, Blake."

Blake frowned. "You know what the funny part is, Weiss? I almost _always_ back down. I always run and hide." She pointed to her ribbon. "I'm hiding right now, and it doesn't make any damn sense." She pointed to one enlisted female helping to load a Sidewinder onto Weiss' Typhoon. "She's a Faunus. So why don't I just take off this stupid ribbon?"

"Why don't you?" Yang asked.

"Because I'm scared, Yang. That people will stop seeing me as Blake Belladonna or Captain Blake Belladonna, USMC. They'll just see me as a Faunus. I'm hiding. I'm hiding from…everyone, it seems."

"You're not hiding from us." Weiss reached over and touched Blake's hand. "Baby steps, Blake. Take it off when you're comfortable doing so. You don't have to run and hide anymore."

Seeing that Blake was starting to get upset, Yang began speaking. "At least you two have a goal. Me, I just want to fly around, kill stuff, and then go back and start the process over. Don't really have a goal, and I don't care what happens tomorrow. I wasn't kidding Oobleck when I said I get off on this shit. But what the hell am I going to do when I'm too old to do it anymore?"

"You could be like Oobleck," Weiss said with a smile.

"Me? A teacher?" Yang thought about it for a moment. "I can't see it."

"Weirdly, I can," Blake snickered. "So what about Ruby? Oobleck didn't even ask about her."

"Ruby?" Yang sipped at her bug juice. "She's like you guys. Ever since she was a kid, she's dreamed about being the heroine, like in the books. She's not in it for medals or anything; Ruby just wants to be the person who saves the day. Ever since she could barely talk, that's what she's wanted." Yang made a face. "Man, I can see why they call this bug juice. Leaves a gross aftertaste. I wish I'd brought some Listerine."

"I have a little something." Blake reached into her overnight bag—which she had thoughtfully brought and no one else had—and withdrew a flask. Yang's hands went to her mouth. "Why, Captain Belladonna!" she said, in a fair approximation of Ozpin's voice. "Is that illegal liquor? I am shocked, young miss, positively shocked!"

Blake rolled his eyes. "It's not illegal unless Ruby drinks it. I actually brought it because it can have medicinal properties." It was Weiss' and Yang's turn to roll their eyes. "I did, dammit!" Blake set the flask down between them. "Anyway, we forgot to celebrate Weiss making ace yesterday."

"That's right, we did!" All of them jumped as Oobleck and a bleary-eyed Ruby arrived. Oobleck had a thermos of steaming coffee and four plastic cups. The bug juice was quickly forgotten as four cups were filled. "Ah!" Oobleck stopped them before they could drink. "First we celebrate Weiss' acedom." He handed her the flask. "Horrido!" he toasted her with his thermos.

Weiss smiled in understanding. "Horrido!" she replied, and took a drink.

"Horri…what?" Ruby was still trying to wake up.

"It was what German hunters used to yell when they had downed prey," Oobleck explained, finger raised. "Similar to the English tally-ho, except the latter was only used when the hunter _sighted_ their quarry. It was adopted by German pilots in the Second World War, and possibly the First."

"It's not Nazi, is it? I don't want to be toasting in Nazi," Yang said.

Weiss slapped the flask into her chest. "It's not Nazi, you dolt."

Yang winked, to show she was only joking. "Horrido or whatever!" She took a drink and handed it to Blake.

Blake raised it to toast Weiss. "Horrido." She took a drink, but hesitated to hand it to Ruby. Oobleck noticeably found something interesting on the ceiling of the hangar. Ruby took it, slammed it back, and stuck out her tongue. "Horrible."

"Horrido," Weiss corrected her.

"No, this stuff is horrible. Where did you get this?" Blake only shrugged. Ruby did the same and handed it to Oobleck, who finished the flask.

"Marine medicinal liquor," Blake said with a straight face. She shook a bag at Ruby. "Gourmet MRE?"

"Don't mind if I do." Ruby tore open the MRE and began sorting it out. Oobleck accepted one as well. Once they were eating as well, Ruby spoke up. "I have an idea about today." It came out as "Iadf haff fan fordea bouf todaf," so the rest of them had to wait until Ruby was able to masticate the pork patty and repeat herself.

"Let's hear it," Oobleck said, curious.

"We're checking out Mountain Glenn, right? Even though you didn't find anything there last time, Blake?"

Blake looked down. "It's just a feeling, Ruby."

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, it's on the way home anyway, right?" Seeing that Oobleck was getting a bit impatient, she quickly continued, "So I head out ahead of the formation at about, oh, ten or twelve miles ahead. I'll go over low, see if I see anything. If Torchwick and his boys are there, maybe I'll stir up something. They won't open up on a two ship, but they see a single, and they might just take a shot."

"That is a super hard pass, Ruby," Yang warned. She didn't like it when Blake hung her tail out to get shot at; she positively hated the idea of her little sister doing it.

"I'm a grown woman, Yang," Ruby told her. Yang stared daggers at her sister, but said nothing. "Doctor Oobleck, I want to give it a try. If there's nothing there, nothing will happen."

Oobleck hesitated, then nodded. "All right. But we'll make it six miles, no more. If you see anything and you don't have time for a contact report, say…" He thought for a moment. "Mona Lisa. Yes, that will do fine."

"Mona Lisa. Got it. You hear me say that, something's definitely wrong."

The rest of the breakfast was eaten in silence. Yang kept looking at Ruby, as if by sheer force of will she could keep her sister from doing this. She told herself there was nothing at Mountain Glenn; she and Blake had been over it three times. But that did nothing to melt the ball of ice her stomach had become.

* * *

Finally it was time. They threw away their MRE bags, then separated to preflight their aircraft. Weiss noticed as she came out from under _Myrtenaster's_ nose that there were now five kill marks beneath the canopy. She climbed up on the ladder and ran her hand over them. "Who did this?" she asked.

"Oh, I did, ma'am." It was the Faunus, who had a thick American Southern accent. "Didn't think you'd mind."

"I definitely don't mind." Weiss got into the cockpit, and the Faunus helped her strap in. She met eyes with the enlisted woman, and held out a hand, reading the nametape on her uniform. "Thank you, Sergeant Malikov."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Y'all come back now soon, y'hear?" Malikov winked and climbed back down the ladder.

An hour and a half later, Ruby was cruising at 25,000 feet, radar on, her head constantly moving. The skies were empty; unlike the day before, the clouds were scattered to broken. It would be raining at Beacon by the afternoon. For the fourth time, she radioed Regency, the AWACS orbiting to the south over Iowa. "Regency, Ruby Lead. Any paints my area?"

"Negative, Ruby. There's six Beowolves down to the southwest at 70 miles, no threat. Juniper is vectored to intercept."

_Good luck, guys,_ Ruby thought. _It's okay,_ she reassured herself. _They can handle six Beowolves, no sweat. Anyways, they've got Goodwitch with them._ She was tempted to go south and help, but that wasn't her mission.

Her mission was to be bait, and she had volunteered for it.

Another sweep of her radar showed nothing. Unfortunately, her older radar was a bit limited on ground targets. She had spotted the Goliaths from the day before near the Twin Cities—or maybe it was a different "herd"—but her F-16 was no threat to them, and they had ignored her, as she was well out of range. She glanced behind her, and saw two contrails. Normally, military aircraft avoided the contrail zone, as it was a giant white arrow pointing to their location, but Weiss and Blake were the ones contrailing. It was added bait to the hook, and reassurance to Ruby that her friends weren't far away. Yang had been noticeably laconic during the flight checks, which meant her sister was mad at her.

But true leaders never asked someone to do what they were not willing to do themselves. Her father had said that. Uncle Qrow wouldn't have asked someone else to play bait. Summer Rose definitely wouldn't have. At that moment, Ruby felt the closest to her mother since the day Summer had left, never to return.

_Well…here I go, mama._ Ruby pushed up the throttle a little and gave a minute push forward on the stick. The F-16 began a gradual descent. She would come in at two thousand feet.

* * *

_Mountain Glenn_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

"Quiet!" Roman Torchwick shouted. Instantly, the White Fang loading crates into the boxcars stopped. Everyone listened, and it didn't take Faunus hearing to detect the growing sound of a jet engine. "Take cover! Take cover!" Torchwick jumped into one of the boxcars, and looked frantically for Neo. She had come out to take some fresh air, an umbrella over one shoulder in case it rained. White Fang dropped under railcars, behind trees, any place with cover. Torchwick saw Ilia Amitola in the open, but she went prone and disappeared, her chameleon talent rendering her practically invisible. Finally, he spotted Neo as she rolled under a rusted boxcar.

He stole a glance to the northwest, where the noise was coming from. A dot appeared against the broken overcast, gradually growing into the shape of a F-16. He grabbed a burly Faunus by his jerkin, the leader of the work party. "Perry, radio down to the bunker, and tell them we're being overflown again!"

* * *

Ruby dipped a wing as she shot over Mountain Glenn at five hundred miles an hour. At that speed, the ground was just above a blur, but she was trusting her eyes. Just in case there _was_ someone down there, she wasn't going to make it any easier on them.

A group of old warehouses went by underneath, followed by an old railyard. There was a train sitting on the tracks, complete down to two locomotives attached to the front. "Nothing," she said aloud. "Guess Blake was right."

Then she spotted movement, so small that probably she would have missed it had she not been looking at that exact spot. Ruby popped her speedbrakes just for a moment, shedding speed. Someone who could spot stars in the daytime could see a pink umbrella bouncing on the ground.

* * *

"Shit," Torchwick whispered, although there was no way the F-16 pilot could hear him, even if he screamed at the top of his lungs. Neo, in her haste to get undercover, had dropped her umbrella. The breeze had caught the extended umbrella, which acted like a sail as it scooted across the ground.

Torchwick, hidden behind a box in the railroad car, looked out at the F-16 as it flew past. Red wingtips and spine. "Little Red, Little Red," he breathed with an ironic smile.

* * *

_An umbrella? Out here, after all these years?_ Ruby accelerated again and climbed. She flew southeast for a bit, almost to the Mississippi. Something didn't feel right. She turned around and dropped down again.

"Ruby, Yang, what the fuck?" Yang's voice was higher than normal. She had been watching her sister with her radar.

"Going back in. I think I saw something."

"Ruby, wait!" There was no acknowledgement. "Goddammit!" Yang shouted, and slammed the throttle to the stops, breaking formation with Blake. Cursing, Blake accelerated as well, her Tomcat's wings raking back as she caught up with Yang.

* * *

Neo reached out and snatched her umbrella back under cover. Some of the White Fang had crawled back out. "Stay down!" Ilia yelled. "They're coming back!"

Torchwick saw Perry raise his assault rifle as the F-16 came by, a little slower this time. _"No!"_ Torchwick screamed, but Perry's finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

Ruby looked out the right side this time. The umbrella was gone. "Huh. Great, now I'm seeing—" Then she saw the muzzle flash from the boxcar.

The White Fang saw their commander open fire, and wrongly assumed that someone had given an order. To Torchwick's horror, several more White Fang rolled out from under cover and opened fire as well; one, in an act of utter stupidity, fired a RPG at the F-16, despite it being already out of range. The only thing she had accomplished was to leave a thin smoke trail, and removing any doubt from Ruby's mind that she was under fire.

Ruby had never been under ground fire before; all she saw was several muzzle flashes, but she couldn't see any bullets, since none of the White Fang were kind enough to load tracers. She felt something hit _Crescent Rose,_ and panicked. "Oh shit!" she cried. "Mona Lisa! Mona Lisa!" In her panic, she had forgotten to switch back to Ruby Flight's frequency, but was still on Guard, the frequency she had used to talk to the AWACS. As a result, the call went out to everyone in the Vale Defense Sector.

* * *

Below, in the bunker, Arthur Watts had been listening the entire time. As soon as Perry's call came in, he switched on a radio mast cleverly disguised as a tree. He was switching frequencies, trying to find the right one, when he heard Ruby's call.

Watts had no idea what Mona Lisa meant, but assumed it could be nothing good. With a swipe of another switch, he raised a larger mast from where it had laid perpendicular on the ground. Before it was even in place, another switch turned it on.

"Ruby! Ruby—" Yang winced as her radio net was filled with static.

* * *

150 miles to the south, Juniper Flight flew in a rough diamond. They were still a good hundred miles from the Beowolves, so it would still be a few minutes before they were in range for even long-range missile shots.

Jaune heard Ruby's call. He switched frequencies to Guard. "Ruby, Jaune. Say again?" There was nothing but static. He was overriden by the AWACS frantically trying to contact first Ruby, then Ruby Flight in general. Jaune waited until there was a break in the calls. "Regency, Juniper Lead. What's going on?"

"Unknown, Juniper. We're getting a lot of jamming from over there. Stand by."

Jaune switched back to his flight's frequency, but hesitated before sending out his next radio call. "Pyrrha, Jaune. Do you know what Mona Lisa is?"

"Other than the painting, negative. Ruby sounded scared, though."

Jaune thought for a moment. Ruby might be excitable, but she was not panicky. For her to give that call meant something was going on, and jamming…he checked his map display, then turned on his radar. At the edge of the radar picture was electronic snow. _There's nothing there. That's the Twin Cities. Everything's dead there._

"Jaune, Ren. Ruby Flight is exceptionally capable of handling themselves." Goodwitch, Jaune noticed, remained silent. She was letting Jaune figure this out for himself.

And he did. "Juniper Flight, Jaune. Change of mission. Come right to 75 degrees, let's push it up. Keep your tanks on until we find out what's going on." He cursed silently; that was going to leave Nora behind. "Nora, catch up as you can."

"Roger that!" Nora sounded happy.

"Jaune, Ren; I'll stay with Nora."

"Roger, Ren," Jaune replied. He hated to cut his striking power by another third, but leaving Nora alone was not a good idea either, no matter how confident she was.

"Jaune, Witch Lead." _Oh, here it comes,_ Jaune thought. Goodwitch was going to be angry about Jaune suddenly flying off on a hunch. "I'll handle the Beowolves. Send report ASAP. Good luck. Witch Lead out."

Goodwitch watched the four aircraft of Juniper Flight peel away; Jaune and Pyrrha went supersonic and were gone to view in an instant. Nora was giving all her A-10 everything it was worth, climbing into thinner air as Ren kept pace. She checked her own display. "Mountain Glenn," she remarked to no one in particular, then touched her mike button. "Regency, Witch Lead. Relay to Beacon. Recommend scramble alert five, target Mountain Glenn." She dropped her external tanks and accelerated past Mach One herself, to close the Beowolves quickly.

"Roger that, Witch. Be advised, we've just picked up new targets approaching from the west. We're not able to lock on very well, so we're guessing here." Regency paused. "Classify new threat as two Nevermores, bearing two zero one, range one hundred, angels twenty."

* * *

Torchwick, despite being half a foot shorter than Perry, punched the Faunus in the face. "You fucking _idiot!_ As soon as that F-16 gets off a contact report, everyone in the fucking Remnant is going to know we're here!" Perry was more surprised than hurt, and just rubbed his jaw in shock.

The thief jumped out of the boxcar. In the far distance, he could see the F-16 climbing, and two more specks. "We're blown," he said. He whirled back on Perry. "Get the train started."

"Not everything's loaded—"

"I don't give a flying fuck!" Torchwick yelled. "We stand a better chance of survival on the move than we do standing still! That train is a rolling bomb, and Little Red's going to come back with her friends and strafe the shit out of us! Now go, goddammit!" Perry nodded quickly and began running towards the front of the train. He saw Ilia, her skin turning back into its normal soft brown rather than the darker shade it had been against the ground. "Amitola, get your chameleon ass back down in the bunker and tell your High Leader that we're starting the party early! And scramble our fighters so we stand something resembling a chance!" He reached down and hauled Neo to her feet. "Neo, go with her. Tell that Taurus asshole it's time for you to get your surprise." He hurriedly pressed his lips to hers, enjoyed the feeling for a moment, and then pushed her along. "I'm borrowing your Sea Harrier!" Then he was running as well.

Neo opened her mouth to say something, couldn't say it, so she turned and ran after Ilia.


	48. Mona Lisa Overdrive

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: And here we go! This is pretty much going to be all air battles from here to the end. _

* * *

_Mountain Glenn_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Ilia Amitola ran for all she was worth, down the tunnel, yelling at the guards to leave the doors open; there was no point in shutting them now. Adam Taurus met her at the second gate. "What the hell is going on?"

"The Air Force found us, that's what!" She stopped only for a second. "Torchwick's getting the train started. We've got to get in the air! Where's Sienna?"

"Right here." Sienna came up to them. "Where's Perry?"

"With the train."

"Damn!" She took a deep breath. Perry was to lead the strike force against Beacon, but that assault was also supposed to happen at night. In broad daylight, it would never work. It was all coming apart. "They'll never make it to La Crosse."

"We still might." Adam took Ilia's shoulder. "Scramble everything we have, and put an umbrella over the train. Beacon isn't on combat alert; it will take them time to figure out what's going on. Inertia is something the humans have to overcome, not us. If the train can make it to La Crosse, the military will be dealing with fires and destruction to worry about a small force of helicopters slipping through. We can ground the strike force in the woods and still hit Beacon tonight." He saw Neo, out of breath as she came to a stop. "You, Neo, go with Ilia."

"Surprise?" Neo puffed out.

Adam smiled. "It's there, under the tarp next to _Wilt._ Go! Hurry!" The two women dashed off, Ilia grabbing anyone who was flight qualified on the way.

"You go too," Sienna told Adam. "I'll handle things here. Good luck."

He sketched a salute to her and ran off as well. Sienna turned and jogged back into the warren. "Everyone!" she yelled out. "Pack up what you have and load it into the helicopters! Anything too heavy gets left behind! I want as many of you as possible on that train! Hurry!" She fought her way through the press of Faunus her orders caused, and looked for Watts.

She found him in the central office, hunched over a laptop. "Watts, we have to go. The Americans found us."

"I'm aware of that," he said over his shoulder. "I've activated a broad-spectrum jammer. That should keep them from getting off a contact report." He didn't mention the strange Mona Lisa call.

"Good work." She ran a hand through her hair. "Maybe we can still pull this off…"

"Hopefully." Watts leaned back in his chair. "I am also bringing us some reinforcements. It will take them a little time to get here, but it will definitely distract the United States Armed Forces." He pointed at the laptop. "The jammer doesn't just jam communications. It also acts as a homing beacon."

"For what?"

Watts grinned up at her under his mustache, a grin so savage that even Sienna was intimidated. "GRIMM, my dear. It's going to attract every GRIMM within 200 miles."

Her eyes widened in shock and horror. "Are you out of your _mind?_ They'll all come here!"

"Not so, High Leader. The GRIMM will home in on this signal, true…but they'll soon sight better prey, in the form of the very loud noises of explosions and the equally large numbers of targets. Beacon will be dealing with a veritable horde of GRIMM bearing down on La Crosse, and even if they blow the bridges, most will be able to cross the Mississippi."

Sienna thought for a moment. It wasn't exactly what they had planned, but certainly GRIMM would provide quite the distraction. "Good work, Dr. Watts. I am quite impressed. Now we just need to activate Black Queen."

Watts' grin faded. He glanced at his laptop for a moment, then returned his eyes to hers. "No."

"Pardon me?"

"No, Miss Khan. I will not activate Black Queen."

"I suppose I wasn't clear enough." Sienna reached behind her and pulled out a pistol. She leveled it between Watts' eyes. "I wasn't asking, Doctor."

* * *

"Yang? Yang?" Ruby tried the radio, and it was nothing but hissing static. _Crescent Rose_ was above the overcast now. She turned and joined up with her sister, looked across at Yang, and pointed to her helmet. Yang shook her head; she couldn't hear either. Blake came up on the other side, and held up a whiteboard she had pulled from her kneepad. JAMMED? LOCATION?

"How the hell should I know?" Ruby said aloud, though there was no way Blake could hear her. All Ruby could do was shake her head and point downwards.

Weiss had figured it out as well. She flew over the rest of Ruby Flight. "DUST," she instructed. "Home on jam." The DUST system switched on the seeker heads in two of her AMRAAMs. The missiles were air-to-air, but they were able to lock onto sources of jamming. Under normal circumstances, this would mean aircraft with electronic countermeasure pods, but Weiss guessed it might work on ground sources as well. Her HUD showed the direction of the jamming. With no way of warning the others, she simply rolled and dived through the undercast. Ruby, seeing her wingmate, accelerated past Yang and Blake to follow Weiss down.

* * *

Oobleck, for his part, climbed. There was a possibility that the jamming might be less at higher altitude. He pushed the old F-106 to its ceiling before switching on his radio. "Pinetree, Oscar Oscar, come in." There was just the hint of a voice below the hissing of static, but not enough. Then he remembered the AWACS. "Regency, Oscar Oscar, come in."

"Osc…Rege…barely…status…" The radio popped and hissed, but it was better than nothing.

"Regency, if you can hear me, we have a situation at Mountain Glenn. Repeat, Mountain Glenn. How are you reading me?" To Oobleck's frustration, there was nothing but static.

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Ozpin rushed into the control tower, limping as he did so. "What's going on?"

The senior controller spun in his chair. "We're not sure, sir! We had some sort of weird radio call from Ruby Flight, inbound over Minnesota—"

"What kind of call?" Ozpin cut him off.

"Something about Mona Lisa. It was from Ruby Lead."

Mona Lisa didn't ring any bells for Ozpin. "How did she sound?"

The master sergeant hesitated. "Honestly? Scared shitless, sir." Ozpin's eyebrows went up in alarm. Ruby Rose did not scare easily. "There's massive broadband jamming from the Twin Cities area, and Colonel Goodwitch ordered us to scramble the alert five." He pointed to the runway, where Cardinal Flight was moving out to the runway. "We've got that, but we've heard nothing else from Ruby Flight. Juniper is moving north to help, but they're a ways off—"

"Scramble everything. Now. I don't want anything on the ground." It was a lesson learned time and time again, Ozpin told himself: never be caught on the ground.

The senior controller didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir." He pressed a red button on his console, and alarms went off across Beacon.

"And notify the 1st Armored. Just in case." Ozpin went off to find Ironwood.

* * *

"Active air scramble. This is no drill."

The loudspeakers blared the bland announcement, as if the warbling klaxons weren't enough. Cinder came out of her VOQ room, quickly joined by Emerald and Mercury. Emerald looked at Cinder in shock. "You don't think—"

"Something's going on," Mercury said, rather stating the obvious. "You think Sienna or Torchwick jumped the gun?"

"In broad daylight?" Emerald exclaimed. "She'd be insane. There's still five days to go."

"So? What do we do?" Mercury asked.

Another door burst open, and Ruth Lionheart burst out, zipping up her flight suit, her mane a fright wig, damp with water and a hint of shampoo. "Don't just stand there!" she shouted at the rest of them. "Get one up!"

Cinder watched the Faunus dash out of the VOQ. "She's right." She zipped up her own flight suit. "Let's go."

* * *

The dispersal area was utter pandemonium. Ground crews scrambled to load missiles and ammunition into gun drums; there was no way to know what the threat was, or if it was coming straight at them. They worked quickly and furiously: no one wanted to be caught with a tarmac full of aircraft loaded with fuel and weapons. Shouts and curses were drowned out as Cardinal Flight took off.

Coco Adel ran to her Mirage. Already there were Sidewinders on the wingtip rails. The crew chief threw her a quick salute. "Chief!" she shouted. "Do you have some time to load something?"

"Not much," the crew chief replied. "What did you need?"

"I saw a Pave Claw the other day. Can you load it on the centerline?" Coco had a hunch that she would be needing something against ground targets.

"Take us a minute to get it out of the bunker, but yeah."

"Do it. Hurry." The last was unnecessary, and the chief quickly sent two airmen headed for the underground storage bunker, where munitions were kept. "Yatsuhashi!" The big Japanese pilot turned. "Go on without me! I'll catch up! You're in command!"

"_Hai, wakarimasu!"_ He ran towards his F-2.

* * *

_Over Mountain Glenn_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Weiss kept one eye on the ground and one eye on the threat display, trying to find where the jamming was coming from. She saw figures running across a bridge over the Mississippi, but ignored them; they were no threat. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw muzzle flashes from small arms, but ignored that as well.

_There it is. That tower, it has to be that,_ she told herself. It was thin and tall, and would be almost impossible to hit with her cannon, especially since her guns were calibrated for air targets, rather than ground. Still, she had to try. Weiss leveled out much lower than she would have liked, center the tower in her gunsight, and opened fire. The cannon shells kicked up divots from the ground and from atop the big warehouse, but she saw a few sparks that showed hits on the tower. Then she was past, barely clearing it. Weiss weaved and dropped flares, just in case someone on the ground had a shoulder-launched missile, and climbed away. She spotted the train pulling out, and dodged away as a lot more muzzle flashes lit up on the train.

* * *

"Are you going to pull the trigger or not?" Watts asked Sienna. He sounded bored.

"Turn on Black Queen," she snarled.

"For the second and last time: no. And if you kill me, you will never get to use it. I'm the only one who knows the activation code."

Sienna thought about shooting Watts anyway, out of spite, but lowered the pistol. "Go to hell."

"More than likely, but in the meantime, let me explain why." Watts pointed in the general direction of the surface. "Do you think Torchwick will get the train to La Crosse? Do you _really_ think he's going to pull it off? Because I don't. I know a little about this Ozpin fellow, and he will throw everything Beacon has at that train. So will General Ironwood. By all means we can try, and perhaps some miracle will occur and the plan will work. But I believe it will fail, and I think you're smart enough, Sienna Khan, to realize the same thing."

"Damn," Sienna hissed, because she knew he was right.

"Relax," Watts said. "This still works to our advantage. Ozpin will think this was our main attack, while never suspecting that we can try again later, when their guard is down. _Then_ I can activate Black Queen, and Beacon is ours for the taking."

Sienna slowly nodded, and holstered the pistol. "Very well, Doctor."

His laptop beeped, and Watts turned to face it. "Well, that's not exactly good." He pointed at the screen. "The jammer's been damaged. It's only jamming one channel." His smile remained. "Still, the GRIMM are still following the signal."

* * *

Neo, Ilia and Adam hit the asphalt on the bridge as the Typhoon roared over them, followed by the F-16. They half expected the fighter to strafe them as well, but it was past without firing. Several of the White Fang troops opened fire on it, with more enthusiasm than accuracy. They got to their feet. Adam looked up at a second pair of engine noises. Just under the undercast were the shapes of a F-15 and a F-14. In the weak sunlight, he could tell the F-15 was painted the standard dark gray, but the F-14 was painted black.

He smiled, though the smile was tempered by his right hand tightening on his sword hilt. "Hello, Blake." He jumped, however, when a hand slapped his rear end. He whirled on Neo, his sword halfway out of the scabbard. "Move your ass!" Neo shouted as she ran past.

Adam spared one more glance at the F-14 as it flew over, six thousand feet above him, and continued running. Ilia was far ahead, in an all out sprint. As he reached the opposite bank, the hangar doors rolled open and two MiG-21s rolled out, headed for the runway, followed by two more.  
There were four hangars on what had been South St. Paul Municipal Airport. The fourth, the largest, was the one that Adam and Neo ran into. Inside were four more MiG-21s, Ilia's F-5, Adam's Moonslice, and the tarp covered "surprise." Ilia was supervising several White Fang troops in taking the tarp off.

It revealed a bright red F-22 Raptor.

Neo skidded to a stop, her mouth open. Adam couldn't help but laugh. "It's yours," he said. "A gift from your boyfriend. It is on loan, however." She turned at that. "It's Cinder Fall's, so she would probably appreciate it if you didn't scratch the paint."

"Mine?" Neo asked hesitantly.

"Mm-hm. For now."

Neo actually clapped her hands in happiness, and to Adam's distinct surprise, she gave him a quick hug. Already, another White Fang was running to Neo with her pink-trimmed brown flight suit and multicolored helmet. Adam went to help her get strapped in.

"I'll preflight _Wilt!"_ Ilia yelled at him. Adam gave her a quick nod and continued to help with the F-22. Once he was occupied, Ilia faded partially from sight, her skin camouflaged against the black fuselage of the Moonslice. Quietly, she opened an inspection panel.

* * *

Blake watched as Weiss and Ruby climbed away. She saw the train moving below, but there was so much forest hanging over the track, it would be impossible to hit it. Much like a hunter, she would have to wait for it to break cover. _And then what?_ Blake asked herself. They were configured for air to air fighting.

Mainly out of frustration, she reached forward and switched radio frequencies. To her surprise, the static faded once she was on Guard channel. "Weiss did it," she breathed, then rocked her wings to get Yang's attention. Once she did, she scrawled SWITCH GUARD on her kneeboard and held it up to the canopy. Yang nodded, and a second later, her voice came up on the radio. "Blake, Yang, how are you reading me on Guard?"

"Five-by, Yang. Catch up with Ruby and Weiss and let them know."

"Roger." The F-15 accelerated to meet up with the other two aircraft, which had begun to circle. Blake began to turn as well, but then caught movement on the ground. She leveled out, switched on the TCS beneath her nose, and zoomed in. "Oh shit," she said, then activated her mike. "Regency, this is Ruby Four, are you receiving me?"

The relief in the AWACS controller's voice was palpable. "Yeah, we receive you, Ruby Four. Situation?"

"We've got a train full of bad guys heading southwest, but that may not be our biggest problem. I've got one…no…shit," Blake cursed. "Two Death Stalkers, at my two o'clock low. Heading southeast."

"A lot of that going around, Ruby Four," Regency told her. "Juniper Flight is on the way to your position, but Juniper Two reported spotting six Goliaths, also heading west. We've also got two Nevermores and possibly a King Taijitu."

Blake swallowed. "Not good."

"Roger tha—" The AWACS controller interrupted himself. "Ruby Four, warning, warning—bogeys taking off from your six o'clock low. Repeat, bogeys at your six."

Blake immediately threw the Tomcat into a climb, and leveled out upside down just below the undercast. Against the river, she saw four MiG-21s taking off from the airfield that she thought had been deserted. "Sienna, you bitch," she hissed without transmitting. "You were there all along." Then she hit the radio button. "Regency, be advised, bogeys are four Fishbeds. Classify as bandits."

"Blake, Yang." Blake rolled out and saw Yang heading towards her, Weiss and Ruby in tow. "We're on the same channel. What's going on?"

"Bandits, eleven o'clock low. Four MiGs."

"More than that," Ruby radioed. "Looks like we've got four more rolling out, and a F-5, and…what the hell?"

Blake circled around to look. The MiG's arrowhead shape was distinctive, as was the thin silhouette of the F-5. Rolling out behind the latter was a bright red F-22. "That's a Raptor!"

"It's the same one that shot at me and Goodwitch over Ohio!" Ruby yelled.

"Oscar Oscar to Ruby Flight." Oobleck had finally found the right channel; Blake felt herself blushing a little, because she had completely forgotten about their superior. "Yang, Weiss, I'll help you engage the fighters. Ruby, Blake, try to slow down the train. Maintain contact; we can't afford to lose it. Beacon's scrambling everything; Cardinal should be here in five minutes. Understood? Don't worry about the GRIMM for now."

"Roger that." Blake and Ruby turned south, the F-14's wings raking back as it picked up speed. Oobleck, descending through the overcast, saw the aircraft on the runways below, and the four MiG-21s, headed for the train. "I have the MiGs to the south."

"I'll take the F-5 and these MiGs here," Weiss said.

"Then the F-22's mine," Yang finished. Beneath her oxygen mask, the blonde smiled. She'd always knew she could take a Raptor; now she was going to find out.

* * *

Adam watched Ilia's F-5 and Neo's F-22 leave the hangar. With the taxiway clear, he started up the Moonslice. It was based off of the F-5, but very little remained of the original airframe aside from most of the fuselage. A single engine, taken from the F-16, replaced the twin engines of the F-5, and instead of a single tail, there were two, angled outwards. The nose was slightly larger, to house the same radar as the F-16. Two twenty millimeter cannon stuck out over the nose, same as the Tiger II, but the cockpit was that of the newest F-15. The pirates and White Fang were short on AMRAAMs, so Adam contented himself with six Sidewinders. And finally, of course, were the forward-swept wings that gave the Moonslice unbeatable low-speed handling; the light airframe made it more maneuverable than anything that flew, short of the F-22—and possibly even then.

Adam switched on the power—and _Wilt_ died. Not entirely—the instrument panel came on, the engine spooled up as smoothly as usual, but his inertial navigation system flickered and went out. The rudder pedals gave no resistance, which meant that the fly-by-wire microprocessors that kept advanced aircraft aloft were out. He switched off the engine, powered down, and then tried it again, with the same result.

He yelled over the engine noise at the White Fang that was his crew chief. "Something's wrong!" The chief gave him a thumbs up, gathered more of his men, and frantically began looking over the aircraft, even as the hangar shook with the rest of the Fang's fighters taking off.

* * *

Ruby dashed ahead with Blake, just under the speed of sound; neither used their afterburner, and both were watching the fuel gauge. The aircraft had been refueled at Hector, but air combat could drain fuel tanks in seconds.

"There it is," Blake radioed. "Eleven o'clock low. It's over the bridge."

Ruby flew over the train. There were twelve cars and the two locomotives—the last three were tank cars, but the rest were a mix of boxcars and larger container cars. There were also plenty of White Fang: she could see them on the roof. A smoke trail came from one of them. Ruby dodged, instinctively dropping a flare, and the missile sailed past. "Blake, just looks like they have small arms and some RPGs."

"That wasn't an RPG, Ruby!" Blake warned. "It chased you for a second. I'd say it was a Stinger or a Strela. Whoever fired it didn't have a lock."

_Shit,_ Ruby thought. Both the American-made FIM-92 Stinger and the older Eastern Bloc SA-7 Strela were shoulder-fired heat-seeking missiles. They were more of a danger to helicopters than her, but could still kill her if she wasn't careful. Now some of the White Fang were shooting their rifles, and small arms, in enough volume, could be just as lethal—or even just one lucky shot through the canopy could end her life as easily and as quickly as the red Raptor.

Ruby climbed while she considered the best way to crack this nut. The train was beginning to wind its way through dense forest, and ahead rose the cliffs and limestone ridges of the Upper Mississippi Valley. The train was easily doing seventy miles an hour, and looked to be accelerating.

"Cardinal Lead to Ruby Lead. Hi, girls!" Ruby never thought she'd be happy to hear Cardin Winchester's voice. "Alpha check."

"Cardin, Ruby! We're pursuing a train headed southeast, over, ah, we just passed Hastings!" It wasn't the best directions, but Ruby was rapidly becoming busy.

Luckily, the AWACS was on the ball. "Cardinal Lead, Ruby is at fifteen miles, bearing one-one-zero, angels eight."

Blake broke in. "Cardin, suggest you split your flight. Oobleck is taking on four bandits at twenty miles, same bearing."

For once Cardin didn't argue—mainly because helping Oobleck meant kills, and Cardin wanted kills, badly. "Roger. Russel, Sky, join up with Ruby; Dove, follow me. Zone five." Both Cardin's F-15 and Dove's F-18 went supersonic as they flew over the river; they were a blur past Ruby, there and gone.

"Sky here. Target in sight. Making a run on the locos—what the hell—" Suddenly Sky's voice rose several octaves. "I'm spiked! I'm spiked!"

"Sky, break right! Break right!" Russel screamed. Ruby tried to break in, but hitting the radio button only produced a squealing noise—with only one channel, too many voices were overriding each other.

"Oh shit!" Sky yelled. Finally Ruby saw him as she cleared one of the ridges—the Hawk, trailing flame and smoke, climbing away from the river. "Get out of it, Sky!" she yelled. "You're on fire!"

Sky Lark did not argue. The Hawk leveled out, the canopy came away, and Sky rocketed free of the doomed fighter. It pitched up and exploded, the remains falling into the Mississippi. Ruby held her breath, then saw a parachute billow out over the tiny figure of the pilot. She made a slight course adjustment and flew past the parachute. Sky saw her and held both arms up over his head with clapsed hands. _He's okay. Whew. Thank God._ Ruby tried to radio any rescue forces as Sky steered his 'chute towards the Wisconsin shore, but the channel was blocked by a combination of Sky's rescue beeper—which gave out a whooping sound—and a panicked Russel, who kept screaming "Sky's down! Sky's down!"

_What the hell got Sky?_ Ruby asked herself. Then she saw Blake suddenly climb, roll and dive. Ruby followed where the Tomcat was pointed, and saw a white and pink Sea Harrier suddenly appear from behind a ridge.


	49. Dance of the Furies

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: The air battle continues! This is probably the toughest few chapters I've written. Give me a nice, quiet talky scene anytime._

_Someone asked me back when I first started posting if I would ever use the MiG-31. Well, in this chapter, you get your wish...though it's not the MiG-31 you were thinking of. You must think in Russian..._

* * *

_Near Northfield_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Oobleck saw the four MiG-21s below him begin to turn east, to catch up with the train. So far, they hadn't seen him, and Oobleck made sure the situation stayed that way: he hugged the broken overcast, and trusted in the abysmal rear vision of the MiG-21.

Now came the tough part. He switched on his radar and locked onto one of the MiGs, but the MiG's radar warning sensors would be going off on the cockpit. He hoped that the White Fang pilot's inexperience would buy him a few precious seconds, as he fired off one of the Sparrows. The Sparrow was an older missile which used the firing fighter's radar to guide it—which meant that Oobleck had to keep his F-106 on course until the missile hit, rather than simply fire and forget, like he could with a Sidewinder or AMRAAM, neither of which the ancient Delta Dart could carry. It wasn't really designed for this sort of thing.

Luckily, Oobleck's gamble paid off. The Fang pilot spent five seconds trying to figure out where the missile was coming from—two seconds too late. The Sparrow hit, blowing the MiG in half. The other three scattered. Oobleck punched off his external tanks and swung behind another MiG. The distance closed rapidly. He switched to guns, lined up, and opened fire. Twenty millimeter shells sent sparks trailing from the wing, then the wing separated. The MiG rolled over and went into a spin. If the pilot bailed out, Oobleck didn't see him, since he now had the other pair of MiGs to deal with.

* * *

Twenty miles behind Oobleck, the remaining four White Fang fighters joined up and also began to turn east. Ilia took the lead, as the pilot with the most flight time; Neo actually had more, but didn't complain.

"Red Fang Lead, this is Black Fang Two! We're engaged with an unknown enemy at twenty miles south of Bullseye! Single bandit, identity unknown!" Like their enemies, the Fangs used an arbitrary point as a center navigation reference—Bullseye being South St. Paul.

"Red Fang Lead, roger," Ilia replied. "Red Fang Three, Four, Five and Six, join up with Black Fang. Buster." The four MiG-21s changed course, resuming their southerly course and hitting their afterburners to close the distance.

Without warning, one of them disintegrated in a fireball. Ilia whirled her head around and kicked the tail; the F-5's rearward vision wasn't all that great either. She saw the Typhoon and F-15 diving on them. "Neo!" she shouted. "Break right!"

* * *

_Number six,_ Weiss told herself, sparing a second to see her kill's fireball. The MiG had never seen her, or the AMRAAM she fired. The remaining MiGs dived for the ground to hide against the woods, but she ignored those for now. The F-5 was her target. She followed it into its left break. The F-22 went right, but that was Yang's problem.

* * *

Seventy miles southwest of the dogfight, Nora Valkyrie resisted the urge to push her throttle up any more: it was already at the stops, and she might break it if she tried to do more. The A-10 simply was not designed for speed. She felt sorry for Ren, who was cruising along at half power in his J-10, at what for the fighter would be a leisurely pace. "Ren, Nora," she said. "Go on. They need you more than me."

"Negative," Ren answered simply. He would stay with her; he would have stayed with Jaune or Pyrrha, because lone aircraft were GRIMM bait. It had nothing to do with Nora being his girlfriend. _Well, almost nothing,_ he admitted to himself.

Something moved in the corner of one eye. He looked to his left and up. For a split-second in a break in the clouds, a black shape moved. It was moving at high speed, but in the moment he had seen it, it did not look like Goodwitch's F-22, but larger.

"Regency, Juniper Three," he radioed. "Do have anything at my eleven o'clock, bearing one-three-zero, course approximately northeast at high speed?"

There was a pause, then the AWACS answered. "Negative, Juniper. Nothing on scope."

Ren blinked, but he knew he had seen something. Then Nora interrupted his thoughts. "Ren, Nora, three o'clock low." Ren looked in that direction, dipping his wing to get a better look. It was Goliath GRIMM, six of them. "Regency, Juniper Three. Contact report. Six Goliath, heading east, location…" He consulted the map display on his instrument panel. "Two klicks east of Blooming Prairie."

A new voice came on the line. "Juniper Three and Four, this is Jehovah." Ren recognized Ironwood's voice, broadcasting from Beacon. "Turn east now. We're getting all kinds of GRIMM reports. We need to know what's out there."

"What about the rest—" Nora began.

"That's an order, Juniper Four. Jehovah out."

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Ironwood had joined Ozpin in the control tower. Both men watched as Creamer Flight lifted off from the runway. "Coffee Lead will be rolling momentarily," the senior controller told Ozpin. "Captain Adel had some last minute ordnance loaded. Air to ground."

"Very well." He turned to Ironwood. "James?"

"I'm turning Juniper Three and Four east. They won't get to the dogfight in time anyway. We need to find out where all these GRIMM are coming from." Ozpin glanced at a notepad the general had put in front of him. _Beowolves 12, Nevermore 2, Goliaths 6._ The two met eyes. "Do you think this is the attack we've been expecting?"

"Possibly." Ozpin pulled out a map and grabbed a pencil. He did some quick figures. The train, unless it was stopped, would reach La Crosse in less than an hour. The Beowolves, unless they were stopped, would reach La Crosse in half an hour, the Nevermore in a little more than that, and the Goliaths would take almost two hours. "It's not a coordinated attack," he murmured to Ironwood, so low only the other man could hear him. "Not like her."

"Even Salem isn't perfect," Ironwood whispered back.

"I expected the attack to hit during the main part of Vytal Flag."

"Ruby Flight might've tripped it early." Ironwood smiled wanly. "Those girls do seem to attract trouble." He reached forward and switched his headset to a new frequency. "I'm not taking chances, Ozpin." Ironwood paused until a voice came up on his headset. "O'Hare, Beacon. This is Jehovah. Get Strike Package Alpha rolling ASAP. I authenticate Mike Oscar, time is 1130 local, 1730 Zulu." He put a hand over the mike. "I'm scrambling the B-52s."

"Captain, sir?" The senior controller motioned for Ozpin's attention. "Sir, Juniper Three just reported in. They've spotted Boarbatusks."

"How many?"  
The controller swallowed nervously. "At least fifty. Possibly more."

Ozpin looked over his shoulder at Ironwood, who even looked worried. "It appears we'll need those B-52s, James."

* * *

_Near Mountain Glenn_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Though Yang, deep down, wanted a good fight with the Raptor, her training took over from sentiment. She wasted no time as the F-22 moved away from her: she locked on—or tried; _Ember Celica's_ radar was having trouble locking on to the stealthy aircraft—and fired an AMRAAM.

It guided true, and for a second, Yang thought the dogfight would be over before it started. Then the F-22 suddenly rose up, turned within its own length, and was now suddenly head to head with the F-15. The AMRAAM, unable to match the move, flew on to parts unknown.

The two aircraft shot past each other in a moment. Yang had the briefest of sights of a pink helmet; Neo had hers of a yellow helmet and the bright yellow nose of _Ember Celica._ Then they were past.

* * *

Weiss realized that she might have made a mistake, and wondered if it was too late to switch dance partners with Yang. The F-5 pilot was good. Weiss had fired a Sidewinder only to see it decoyed off, then missed with her gun as the F-5 forced her into an overshoot. Making matters worse was that the MiGs were not heading east or south as she had hoped, but were in a loose circle, waiting to pounce as soon as she turned her back. Weiss was rapidly becoming too busy. She threw _Myrtenaster_ into a hard climb, extending out, trying to get some room.

The F-5 climbed after her and closed the range. "Come on, come on," Weiss chanted to herself. She waited a second longer than she dared, then struck the left rudder pedal and hammerheaded the Typhoon. Her aircraft shuddered on the edge of a stall, then fell out of the sky. The F-5 shot past, having fired a Sidewinder a fraction too late. Weiss opened the throttle to stay in control, gaining airspeed and energy, and began to climb again, expecting to see the F-5 rolling out to find her. Instead, the F-5 had perfectly aped her maneuver and was coming down after her. Making matters worse, one of the MiGs had broken off and was now rushing in as well from above. She would be sandwiched between them.

Then the MiG became a target. A Sidewinder streaked out of the overcast and struck the MiG in its right wing. The MiG tumbled into a fireball and exploded. Weiss had a brief glimpse of a camouflaged F-16, then her radio crackled: "Pyrrha, splash one."

The F-5 opened fire, its nose guns winking with tracer. Weiss threw her Typhoon into a flurry of maneuevers, getting out of the lethal cone of cannon shells. She snapped the stick hard left into a hard break, but as she strained against the press of gravity to check her canopy mirrors, the F-5 was still there.

* * *

Yang knew the Raptor would turn inside her, even as she broke left: the F-22 had thrust vectoring and the Silent Eagle didn't. She was drawing her opponent into a trap. She saw one side of the Raptor's fuselage collapse inward and knew the weapon doors were opening. Yang slammed the stick into her right knee and hit the rudder pedal, throwing her F-15 hard right. Neo swore as she overshot and immediately went into a left roll, trusting her instincts. Both pilots made a complete circle and ended up going directly at each other. Neither anticipated the other's speed, both switched to guns, and both missed. Yang reversed her turn; so did Neo, and the result was another head on pass. Yang missed again; Neo did not even bother firing.

_Like with Blake,_ Yang thought. _Well, maybe the same trick will work with whoever this is._ She pulled the throttle back and pulled her nose up as they entered the third circle, which would force the F-22 into an overshoot.

Neo noticed it, and realized she was not using the F-22's abilities, and was fighting the way her opponent wanted her to. As the two aircraft crossed again, Neo snapped into a hard climb. Before Yang could react, the Raptor was already six thousand feet above her and leveling out, daring Yang to follow her.

Yang didn't accept the challenge, rolled, and went into a shallow dive towards Weiss and Ilia. Neo couldn't believe her luck—the F-15 was presenting a perfect target—rolled over, and dived on _Ember Celica._ She tried to lock on, but the Silent Eagle was nearly as stealthy as her own aircraft, and the distance closed too fast for an AMRAAM shot anyway. A wide grin split Neo's lips as she switched to guns; it would be better this way. She centered the gunsight on the wide spine of the F-15 when suddenly the speedbrake on the back of her opponent popped open. Neo shot past, before she could even pull the trigger, and now she was the hunted. Yang retracted the speedbrake and switched to guns as well. The Raptor hung in her gunsight like a pinned butterfly. "All over, bitch!" Yang crowed.

Neo knew her next move might be her last. She threw the F-22 into a climb, thrust vectored, and hung there, engines roaring. To Yang, it was if the Raptor had simply stopped cold.

"_Oh SHIT!"_ Yang screamed, and slammed the stick forward, clearing the tail of the F-22 by a mere two feet and avoiding a collision. As she did so, Neo spun the Raptor in place, pushed the throttle forward, and was now behind Yang, the F-15's glowing afterburners a perfect target as she switched to Sidewinders.

* * *

Weiss was very happy that the MiGs were no longer a problem, as they were busy trying to evade Pyrrha and Jaune. She had her hands plenty full with the F-5.

Every time she had tried to break away, the White Fang pilot had rolled, keeping her speed and position behind _Myrtenaster._ She could climb away, but that would also leave her a hot target against a cold sky, perfect parameters for a Sidewinder shot, and there was no longer enough room to dive; she would hit the ground. For the first time in her life, Weiss considered quitting: she was going to be shot down anyway, and if she ejected, at least she might get rescued.

_No!_ she shouted at herself. _You're a Schnee, and it will be a cold day in hell before a Schnee falls to a damned White Fang!_

There was one trick left. Weiss breathed a quick prayer, hauled the stick back into her stomach, and stepped down hard on the left rudder pedal. Warnings went off in the cockpit, warning of an imminent stall. She slammed the stick all the way forward.

Ilia had found her opponent to be the best she had ever fought—and she had been trained by Kali Belladonna. It had taken all of her skill to somehow keep her F-5 behind the Typhoon and not overshoot; she knew that her little fighter was outclassed by her opponent, and if she gave the other pilot the slightest opening, she was dead. The MiGs were no longer a factor; she had shut out their cries for help as they were hunted down by the F-16 and Mirage 2000. They would at least buy Ilia time with their lives.

It was about over, though. Ilia had noted the Maltese crosses on the fuselage and wings of the Typhoon, and the Schnee snowflake crest on the tail. The German was good, but Ilia had herded him—or her—into a position where there was no escape. She readied to fire her two remaining Sidewinders.

Then her opponent did the impossible. It rose, rolled left, then seemed to spin in place. Ilia was shocked, but only for a second—and a second was all Weiss needed. She held down the trigger as the F-5 shot past, the 27 millimeter Mauser cannon punching holes the length of the fuselage, barely missing the cockpit. Weiss then opened the throttles, hanging on the sheer power of her engines, _Myrtenaster_ screaming at the edge of a flat spin. The control surfaces bit into the air as Weiss let the nose drop a little to build up airspeed, then she roared back into level flight, bending the trees in her wake.

Ilia heard the left engine clatter and whine down, then the F-5 shuddered as the left tailplane separated from the aircraft. Fuel ignited to flame. Ilia sighed, tightened her straps, straightened her back, and pulled the ejection handles on either side of the seat. She blacked out as twelve times the force of gravity pushed her down into the seat, then she was clear of both canopy and aircraft. She came to as the seat separated and the parachute opened with a thump.

Ilia quickly checked herself. Her back hurt, but her legs and arms were intact; too many fighter pilots broke limbs on ejection. She turned in her parachute at jet noise, and saw in horror that the Typhoon was coming back. There was nothing to do but wait for the cannon shell that would tear her soft body into pieces.

The Typhoon went past without firing. Ilia saw the pilot raise a hand to her brow in salute. The Faunus returned the salute. "Well," she said aloud as the Typhoon hurtled away, "mercy from a Schnee. Who'd have thought?"

* * *

_I'm dead,_ Yang thought. There was no way the Raptor pilot could miss, not with Sidewinders at this range. To Yang's surprise, she did not feel panic or fear, only disappointment that she was going to lose. _This is going to be hard on Dad and Ruby._

"Bye-bye, dum-dum," Neo spoke as her finger tightened on the trigger. Without warning, her ears shrilled with the sound of a missile lock. Her hand was moving before her mind even engaged, dodging left, away from the threat, finger coming off the trigger and ruining her shot. Yang didn't question her sudden salvation: she came out of afterburner and split-S out of the fight, even as the F-22 turned hard. Two missiles shot past, just missing the Raptor. Neo looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

The aircraft was a glossy black, with red highlights, but no markings. It had broad delta wings, with a dogtoothed leading edge, and the intakes set far back, over the wings, with twin tails on both intake fairings. A long nose ended in chiseled edges of a first-generation stealthy aircraft, with canards on either side of the cockpit. To Neo's terror, her radar did not even recognize the aircraft's existence. It wasn't there, and yet it was, and it was beginning to turn in her direction.

Neo Politan was not easily frightened, but fear seized her. In panic, she dived away from the strange aircraft, lit her afterburners, and ran for all she was worth to the west.

"What the hell is that?" Yang asked, as she saw the aircraft from below. It made a hard turn, its afterburners glowed, and it shot into the clouds and disappeared.


	50. Long Train Runnin'

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter 50. Wow. Thank you for sticking with this, everyone. There's a lot more on the way. And I appreciate the reviews on the last chapter!_

_Fighter pilot slang note: Sierra Hotel is short for "Shit hot," aka the best. It can be used either as a compliment or as a complaint._

* * *

_Chicago O'Hare International Airport_

_Illinois, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Winter Schnee ran from the Gulfstream she had just arrived in from Signal towards the six B-52s. Their engines were already spooling up. She dashed towards the first aircraft; the pilot saw her and instructed the crew below to unlatch the boarding hatch. As soon as it was halfway down, Winter pulled herself into the aircraft, squeezed past the gunner who had opened it, then through the lower deck of the cockpit. She scrambled up the ladder into the cockpit. "What's going on?" she puffed out.

The lieutenant in the pilot's seat turned to her. He had flown with Winter as her navigator from Europe a few weeks before. "Morning, Colonel. We got the alert from Beacon. Strike Package Alpha. Straight from Ironwood, ma'am."

_Strike Package Alpha,_ Winter thought. _That means a combined air and ground GRIMM assault. _"Very well. Lieutenant, I'm taking command." She reached into a small cabinet and pulled out a helmet and oxygen mask; she was still in her Luftwaffe regular uniform, but that was less of an issue aboard a pressurized bomber. "Start rolling."

"Do you want the aircraft, ma'am?"

Winter smiled slightly. She had the authority by her rank to take over flying, but this was not her aircraft; it was the lieutenant's. "No, she's yours, Smitty. Take her out." Once she had the helmet on and was hooked into the radio, she informed the raid commander—a major—that she was now in command of the flight, and took the jump seat behind the pilot and copilot. As she did so, the B-52 taxied past held airliners and swung onto the runway. "MITO," Winter ordered over the open net. Minimum Interval Take Off would get the entire cell of six B-52s in the air in less than two minutes.

Both the pilot and copilot gripped the throttles and pushed them to full thrust. An alarm went off. The copilot leaned forward. "Engine number five and six are running above temperature. Might have to shut them down."

"Damn," the pilot breathed. "We'll be a scrub if we do."

Winter leaned forward. "We go. Even if we shut down the engines, we go."

"Colonel, we're not supposed to take off without all eight engines unless it's wartime!"

"Lieutenant, what do you think this is? Go."

"Yes, ma'am." The pilot let off the toe brakes and the B-52 surged forward. Winter leaned back in the jump seat, then was pressed back in it as the Stratofortress roared into the air. It had barely left the ground when the second B-52 was rolling.

"Pilot, navigator," another lieutenant called up from the lower deck. "Come right to 110. When we get to the Mississippi, we'll follow it to La Crosse."

"EWO," Winter instructed, "relay a message to Beacon. Let them know we're on the way, but we'll need escorts if there's GRIMM in the air."

"Roger that, Colonel. That probably won't be a problem. There's one hell of an air battle going on up there."

The B-52s, once they were clear of Chicago, joined up in a tight formation, and each aircraft switched on their internal jamming systems. The gunners uncaged the single Vulcan twenty millimeter gatling cannon in the tails. Like their grandfathers had in B-17s and B-24s, the bomber crews were going to war.

* * *

_Near the Ruins of Red Wing_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Roman Torchwick saw the burning remains of the Hawk splash into the Mississippi. "That's for Lake Michigan, asshole," he murmured, but his RWR warbled for his attention. He strained against the G-forces to look behind him as he made a hard right break. The F-14's profile was unmistakable. "Well, hello, kitty cat," he grinned beneath the mask. "You know, we really need to stop meeting like this. People are gonna talk."

He led the Tomcat back over the train, trying to sucker her into a missile trap, but was forced to break away when the warbling turned into a screech as Blake fired an AMRAAM at him. Roman swore, used the Harrier's thrust vectoring to make a hard turn to throw off the seeker head; the missile hit the ground. Torchwick found himself head to head with the F-14. Both opened fire with guns as they went past, but neither hit. Once more, he threw the Harrier into a hard turn—this sort of knife fight was something he excelled in, and once more knew Blake was making a huge mistake: she was trying to fight him on his own terms. He came around and was rewarded with a spreadeagled view of the F-14 in front of him.

Torchwick was only carrying Sidewinders this time; the White Fang's small amount of AMRAAMs had gone to the F-22 and the Moonslice. That was fine, Torchwick thought, since the Tomcat was at perfect parameters for a Sidewinder shot. He fired two, just in case, and both tracked perfectly; the F-14's wings were raked back, but Blake was still out of kinetic energy.

Both missiles sailed directly through the Tomcat, and Torchwick, with a savage curse, knew he had been had. He chopped the throttle and thrust vectored upwards, switching to guns, as the F-14 dived on him from above. The 25mm cannon fired, but again, nothing happened.

_Two feints? Where the hell—_Torchwick's answer came a second later as he felt the Harrier shudder from cannon hits, and was suddenly thrown to one side as half the tail came off. He had the briefest glimpse of a third Tomcat flying past from under him, and knew what happened: Blake had not turned or climbed, but dived, trading altitude for speed. While he was distracted by the two holograms, she had been coming in from below.

The Harrier's engine wound down, and alarm lights went off all over the instrument panel. The aircraft was seconds away from losing power, stalling, and flat spinning into the river. Torchwick sighed. "Neo's going to be _so_ pissed at me," he remarked, then braced himself, reached between his legs, and pulled the ejection handle.

* * *

Blake shut off _Gambol Shroud's_ holograms, and couldn't stop a wide smile as she saw Torchwick eject from the doomed Harrier. "Blake, splash one. Ruby, where are you?"

Ruby dived on the train. Her missiles weren't of much use against ground targets, but she still had the gun. She pumped the flare button twice, dropping them to decoy any missiles, and made her run. Her cannon shells hit the last car in line, a tank car she set aflame, but the rest just chewed up ground. She broke off her run and climbed, spinning and rolling to further throw off the White Fang on the train. A missile was fired, but it went well wide.

"Ruby, Russel. Sorry about that. Joining up on your port side." The other F-16 came up beside her. "What's the plan, boss?"

Ruby was taken aback for a second. She had never commanded anything but Ruby Flight before, and now she had Russel Thrush asking her for orders. _Well, this what you do now, Ruby Rose,_ she told herself. Then she heard Blake's call. "Blake, Ruby, we're about five miles south of you, angels, ah, ten thousand."

"Roger. I see you." Within moments, the Tomcat was flying on her right side. Ruby thought a moment. "Okay, here's what we'll do. Russel, you roll in, and I'll cover you. Blake, hold high in case the Fangers have got any more fighters around."

"Roger that," Blake said.

Ruby took a breath. "Russel, we're in." The two F-16s peeled off. Ruby took the lead, but her dive was more shallow and not nearly as fast, and she dropped flares. She was throwing herself out as bait. She dropped a wing, and saw White Fang white uniforms around the back of the train. The burning tanker car had been decoupled, and was falling behind the train rapidly; it exploded seconds later.

Russel suddenly flattened his own dive, throwing off the White Fang; he was past the last car before they realized his real target was the locomotives. Ruby saw gun smoke leave a thin trail behind the F-16 as he opened fire, and strikes sparkled off the second of the two locomotives.

"Russel, break off now!" Blake yelled. Russel did not question the call, and broke away. Ruby was about to ask why, but then saw: the train turned a curve and disappeared into dense forest; had Russel continued his run, he would've hit the trees. He twisted away from small arms fire. "Ruby, Russel; I got some hits."

"Roger, I saw that." Ruby edged ahead and waited for the train to clear the forest. It did, and she could see that metal plates were set around the engines. "Fuck," she cursed, not realizing the radio button was still down. "That thing's armored."

"This is never going to work," Russel called out. "Now what?"

Ruby climbed; Russel and Blake joined up again. _Think, Ruby,_ she commanded herself. _We can't take out that train, but something ground to air can—wait, Nora!_ Nora might be too far to talk to, so Ruby tried to contact Regency, only for the channel to be filled with Cardin Winchester's voice. "I GOT THE SON OF A BITCH! I GOT THE SON OF A BITCH!"

"Sierra Hotel," Oobleck cut in. "Now shut up and go get another! I have two of them cornered over here!"

"This is Pyrrha, splash two—"

"Weiss, Yang, did you—"

"What—"

The channel was filled with voices. Finally, a loud voice quieted them all: Ozpin's, using the more powerful ground radios that overrode the aerial sets. "All Vale aircraft, this is Beacon. Silence on the channel." Once that was accomplished, he spoke again. "Go Channel Five." Hands all over Minnesota switched to the new channel, which to their surprise, was clear from jamming. "Sun, Juniper, Coffee and Creamer Flights: marshal at Rochester and engage GRIMM, designation Killbox Alpha. Cardinal: finish off remaining bandits and assume CAP over La Crosse, designation Killbox Bravo; engage any leakers. Ruby: destroy the train ASAP, then join up with Sun and Creamer. Oscar Oscar: return Beacon, buster. All Rochester flights will go Channel Three; all others this channel. Winter Flight is on its way, ETA two-zero minutes. Regency has control. This is Beacon, authenticate Oscar Zebra, time is 1900 Zulu."

Ruby waited to see if there was any more instructions, then got on the channel. "Weiss, Yang, close up if you're clear; we're southwest of Red Wing, bearing, ah, three-zero-zero, about fifty miles. Russel, rejoin Cardinal. And thanks."

"Roger that, Ruby." She saw Russel throw her a salute as he peeled off, lit his afterburner, and raced northwest.

"Regency, this is Ruby," she radioed next. "We're not going to stop this train; we're loaded for air-to-air, and it's armored."

There was a slight pause. "Ruby, Regency; roger that. We're chopping Coffee Lead to you; ETA five minutes." Ruby wasn't sure what Coco Adel was going to be able to do, but presumably Regency knew better than she did. Ruby Rose was not a patient woman, but she now she had little to do but wait, and watch the train below her. It roared through the ruins of Wabasha; there were sixty miles to go before they reached La Crosse.

* * *

_Near Alma_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Karelia Bighorn-Vlata took off her helmet for a moment and gloried in the feel of the wind in her hair. Her M1A2 Abrams was headed south for La Crosse at fifty miles an hour, the treads singing on the reinforced roads. Behind her, her team of seventeen Abrams and M3 Bradleys trailed behind her, all going at full speed. Ahead of them, military policemen cleared the road of traffic; there was no stopping Team Sentinel. Colonel Evan Ridinghood had detached Team Sentinel to reinforce the bridge crossing at La Crosse on his own initiative, after listening to the frantic reports of the pilots above Minnesota. After a few minutes of feeling the breeze, she replaced the helmet.

Beside her, Sky Lark held onto the loader's machine gun for dear life. He had come down on the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River, unhurt except having the hell scared out of him. The local police had delivered him to Team Sentinel, which were headed more or less his way anyway. Now he was having another scare: the United States Army, he decided, was made up of lunatics. He was pushed painfully against the side of the hatch as the tank took a curve without slowing down, and drifted through it like a street racer.

Karelia toggled her throat mike. "Nate, slow down a bit through the curves and quit showing off for Flyboy here. The guy's had enough for one day." She looked over at Sky and tapped her helmet. When he couldn't get the CVC mike to work, she leaned over, bracing her legs against the hatch sides, and helped him. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"You're crazy!" was all Sky could get out. Karelia laughed.

"Yo, Cap," Nate sang out. "We got someone ahead of us." About half a mile up the road, she could see someone frantically waving for their attention. She dropped down into the turret and switched frequencies. "Sentinel Six to Sentinel elements, halt and take five. Nate, stop tank."

"Roger." Nate stepped on the brakes gradually, and the Abrams came to a slow stop. The man in the road was wearing a flight suit. His hair was an orange-red and he was soaked to the bone. There was no sign of a helmet or parachute. "Who the hell are you?" Karelia yelled out. She laid a hand on the commander's weapon—a Browning M2 .50 caliber machine gun.

Roman Torchwick noted the movement and kept his hands raised. He had landed in the river, quickly abandoned the parachute before it dragged him under, and let both current and his own swimming carry him to the Wisconsin side. He hated to leave his tailored, decorated helmet, but he reasoned his only chance of getting out of this with his skin intact was to act like he was a USAF pilot. His flight suit was the same shade and type. When he saw the tanks approaching, he gambled: it was doubtful that the Army would know the name of Roman Torchwick.

"I'm Lieutenant Gray Haddock!" Torchwick shouted. He had used the alias before. "Got shot down by those fucking air pirates—some asshole in a pink and white Sea Harrier!" Torchwick put a smile on it, and he had a very winning smile. "Can I get a lift?"

"Sure, hop aboard." Karelia disconnected her CVC, climbed onto the forward hull of the Abrams, and helped Torchwick up. "It's a bit cramped, but we'll drop you off when we get to La Crosse."

"Much obliged." He went down into the turret and sat next to who he presumed was the gunner, a thin corporal that looked like the stereotypical American Teen. He cracked bubblegum and handed Torchwick a bottle of water, which he gratefully took. With a lurch, the Abrams started up again and began to accelerate.

"Friend of yours?" Karelia called across to Sky, with an incline of her head in Torchwick's general direction. The Malaysian pilot stole a glance down in the turret, looked at the Army captain, and shook his head. "Didn't think so." Casually, she reached into a shoulder holster and laid a Colt M1911 .45 pistol on the turret top, then ducked back down into the turret, motioning for Sky to follow. She braced against the hatch sides, with both feet on the turret floor. "Say, Lieutenant," she said in a half-yell to Torchwick, "what outfit you with?"

Torchwick had dreaded this question, and seeing the flight-suited man leaning down from the loader hatch, knew he was in trouble. "O'Hare," he yelled back. "They sent us up here from there."

"Really?" Sky asked. "You must've gotten up here pretty quick. I got shot down by that Harrier, too. What do you fly?"

"F-16," Torchwick answered.

"Hey, that's cool!" Sky exclaimed. "So what was your graduating class number?" Sky knew that every graduating USAF pilot class had a number, from hanging out with the rest of Cardinal Flight.

Torchwick knew he was caught. He briefly considered shoving the tank commander into the gunner, who sat looking rather concerned at the proceedings, then scrambling out of the commander's hatch and taking a jump into the ditch. But even assuming he managed to do that, there was nothing stopping the column from dropping off a squad of infantry to look at him. And finally, there was the fact that the tank commander was now pointing a pistol at his head. He put up his hands. "Okay, you got me. How did you know?"

"Your hair. Way out of regs, even for the Air Force," Karelia answered. "Who are you?"

"I'm the world famous air pirate Roman Torchwick." He smiled across to Sky. "I'm the guy who shot you down. No hard feelings?"

"None," Sky answered. "You should shoot him, Captain."

Karelia shook her head. She handed her pistol to the gunner, climbed down fully into the turret, and jerked Torchwick's hands behind his back. Without cuffs or zip ties, she used a spare helmet radio cord and tied his hands securely. "Didn't know you were into this sort of thing," he quipped.

"Not as much as I like running over people in my tank," she told him. "The screams really get me off." Both of them were thrown to one side as the turret suddenly rotated right. Had Torchwick's hands been free, he might have used the opportunity, but now he was just pushed down further onto the grimy turret floor. "What's going on?" Karelia yelled at her gunner.

"Train to the right side. That area's supposed to be abandoned, but it's going like hell."

Karelia got back on her CVC. "Loader, load HEAT. Gunner, stand by to engage, but hold fire until I tell you." Sky squirmed out of the way as the burly loader reached back into the Abrams' magazine and slammed a shell home in the breech. "Up!" he shouted.  
"Out of range!" the gunner called out.

Torchwick struggled to his knees and managed to get Karelia's attention by slamming into her. She seized a handful of his flight suit, but he shouted, "Be careful with that train!"

"Why?" she yelled back.

"Because it's loaded with enough explosives to dig a new lake!" Torchwick told her.

She put the pistol to his head. "Where's it going?"

Torchwick rolled his eyes. He was not afraid of the pistol, and actually smiled at the thought of getting back at Sienna Khan a little. Thanks to her, his operation was in ruins. "La Crosse. There's White Fang onboard, and they're going to use it to blow a hole in your lines. Literally."

"Shit." Karelia climbed past Torchwick. "Gunner, don't engage!"

"Out of range anyway, Cap."

She switched frequencies to the team net. "Sentinel Six to Sentinel 44. I need a relay to Beacon, now."

* * *

Ruby spotted Coco's desert painted Mirage headed down the valley at the same time Coco spotted her. The Mirage climbed to meet Ruby Flight, now back together again. Ruby broke off worrying about Yang—her sister seemed unusually subdued on her check-in—to talk to Coco. "Coco, Ruby. I sure hope you're groomed for air-to-ground."

"Roger that, Ruby." Coco rolled onto her left wingtip. Her wingtips carried Sidewinders, as did two of her wing stations. The other stations were loaded with rocket pods, and the centerline held a huge gunpod. _A Pave Claw!_ Ruby thought with exultation. The Pave Claw was a gunpod that held the same mammoth Avenger 30 millimeter gatling cannon used by the A-10.

"Sierra Hotel, Coco!" Ruby said. "Okay, target is the train below. The locomotives are armored; our twenty mils won't do squat. The train's got White Fang all over with small arms and Stingers. We'll distract them while you run at the locos."

"Roger. Sounds like fun."

"Blake, you and Yang hold high while Weiss and I make our run. Coco, as soon as we're off to the east, you come in." Coco clicked her mike twice in response.

"Roger, wilco," Blake replied.

Ruby thought Weiss' Mauser cannon might hit harder than her Vulcan. "Weiss, if you're okay with it, you go in first, and I'll follow in trail. Okay?"

"Roger, Ruby." Weiss hoped _Myrtenaster_ was all right. It was flying just fine, but she knew she had to have overstressed the airframe in the fight with the F-5.

"Coco, head out. We'll go in three minutes."

Coco clicked her mike again and acclerated away from Ruby Flight. Below, the ground had deepened to a valley, with the railroad hugging the narrow flatland between the river and the forest-covered mountains. Ruby checked her onboard clock, waited three minutes, then gave Weiss the go. The Typhoon dropped into a shallow dive; Ruby counted to five and followed.

"Ruby Lead, Regency. Relay from Beacon; prepare to copy."

"Little busy, Regency."

The AWACS ignored her. "Relay from Beacon as follows: train filled with high explosives, engage with caution, but destroy target as soon as possible. Acknowledge."

"Oh shit!" Ruby screamed. "Weiss, Coco, break off! Break now!" Weiss instantly pulled up, a second before she would have opened fire on the middle of the train. To avoid hitting _Myrtenaster,_ Ruby broke left and swung out over the river.

* * *

Her message had not reached Coco, because the train had curved behind a ridge. Coco rolled in, using the ridge as cover, and so didn't hear Ruby's message. As it turned out, the White Fang were too surprised to see a Mirage coming down the track at a hundred feet head on at the train to fire back at it. Coco pulled the trigger and held it.

The Pave Claw roared as it sent 150 rounds of depleted uranium tipped armor piercing rounds into the front of the train. The jury-rigged armor was shredded under the onslaught and the rounds tore into the engine, igniting fuel. As Coco flew over the top, she paused for a half-second, then fired again, into the center of the train, hitting a tank car, which erupted in flame. The speed of the train caused the flame to be sucked back into the cars, loaded with black powder and dynamite.

Aboard the train, Perry died a hero's death. His last act was to yell at his White Fang comrades to abandon the train as he hit the brakes to slow down, even as the crippled engine began to tear itself apart. Some made it, diving into the ditch, risking broken bones instead of certain death. Others never heard the order and fired ineffectually at the Mirage up to the moment when the entire train went up in a tremendous explosion.

The explosion blew outwards, flattening trees on the ridges like a tornado was passing through them and igniting others; an entire section of cliff was blown upwards, then fell back onto the burning remains of the train and the track. Flames shot upwards, carrying with it pieces of train and bodies; Yang watched in stunned horror as an entire wheel assembly from one of the boxcars spun crazily past—and she was at seven thousand feet altitude. Perry's courageous act had been in vain: any White Fang that had made it off the train were pulped by the shockwave.

Coco felt like a giant hand had grabbed her Mirage and thrown it. It spun crazily across the valley with enough force to tear the Pave Claw pod off the centerline and one of her flaps off the left wing. Her engine flamed out before it relit with a bang, and her helmet was thrown against the canopy hard enough to break it. It took every amount of flying ability she had to keep the Mirage in the air.

* * *

Ruby was far enough away to see the explosion and the actual shockwave rippling across the Mississippi towards her. She turned away as hard as she could and firewalled the throttle. The shockwave still caught _Crescent Rose,_ but with much less violence than it had hit Coco. Once the buffeting stopped, she turned back, now over the Wisconsin side of the valley. "Holy…" Ruby couldn't even finish the sentence. Where the train had been was now a mushroom cloud slowly rising into the sky, with an entire ridgeline aflame.

Blake and Yang were similarily stunned, so it fell to Weiss to make the call. "Regency, Weiss. Target destroyed."

"I fucking guess!" Yang finally found her voice.

Ruby flew over the tank column and rocked her wings. No one waved back, as everyone outside their turrets had rapidly dropped down into them, slamming shut the hatches when the explosion happened. She caught up with Coco. "Coco, Ruby, you receiving?"

There was a pause, then Coco came up, breathing heavily. "Roger…roger, Ruby. Still here. _Ya lahwy!_"

"You okay?"

"Give me a lookover."

Ruby flew alongside. The once pristine camouflage was blackened in places, the Pave Claw pod was gone along with the centerline pylon, one flap was missing, the rudder looked shredded, and the nose pitot boom was skewed. She told Coco the damage. "You gonna bail out?"

"Negative. I'll try to make Beacon_. _ Go on, Ruby."

Ruby threw her a wave, then rejoined Ruby Flight, flying past the black cloud. Pieces still rained down into the river, and flames spread down the track. There was nothing left. "Ruby Flight, check in."

"Yang."

"Weiss."

There was no response from Blake. Ruby called again, and finally Blake came up. "Blake. Blake, checking in."

"You hit?"

"Negative. Charlie Mike." Blake spared one last look at what had been the train, and possibly some of her former friends.

"Regency, Ruby. Coco is RTB Beacon with heavy damage. We're still committed." Ruby reached up and wiped some sweat from under her helmet with her glove. It was already a long day.

"Ruby, give me your state."

"Wait one." She checked her fuel gauge, then asked the others of Ruby Flight how they were doing on fuel. Dogfighting took a lot, but all of them still had enough—for a short while, anyway. "Regency, Ruby has about 30 minutes of playtime."

"Roger, Ruby. Proceed south to Killbox Alpha and rendezvous with the other flights. We'll get a tanker scrambled to you over Brown Anchor if you need it."

Ruby checked her kneepad map. Brown Anchor was just south of La Crosse. "Regency, what's the raid count on GRIMM?"

Regency didn't answer for a moment. "Ruby, I think it's all of them."


	51. Through the Fire

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was the hardest chapter to write so far. Writing 1V1 is tough, but writing everyone on everyone?_

* * *

_Former South St. Paul Airport_

_Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

The crew chief clambered up the latter. "Sir, try it now!"

Adam Taurus powered up the Moonslice, and this everything came on the way it was supposed to. He threw the crew chief a thumbs-up, but before he could close the canopy, Sienna Khan dragged off the crew chief and made her way up the ladder. She leaned in so he could hear her better. "The mission's off!" she shouted.

"What?"

"It's off!" she yelled louder. "We lost all contact with the train, and all the fighters are gone! You go up there now, and you'll just get shot down!"

"I can do it!" Adam yelled back.

"I _order_ you not to do it!"

Adam reached out, powered down Moonslice, and grabbed her by the front of her shirt. "I am better than all of them," he hissed.

Sienna slapped his hand away. "Beacon has everything in the air—Watts has been picking up their transmissions. You might get one or two, but the rest will kill you—and you're all we have left now."

Adam slammed a fist down on the side console, in frustration, because he knew Sienna was right. "Now what? Do we wait here until the Air Force comes and bombs us to bits, or when the Army sends in _their_ strike force?"

Sienna shook her head. "Watts has found us another hideout. Do you have the fuel to make North Dakota?" The tradeoff for Moonslice's small size and amazing maneuverability was short range.

"I can make it."

"We're loading everything else in the helicopters. Right now the humans are dealing with the GRIMM. We'll escape before they know we've gone." She touched his shoulder in a rare bit of comradeship. "I'm sorry, Adam. It was just bad luck."

He nodded. "We lost the battle today, but hardly the war. Give me the coordinates."

Sienna handed him a note. "These come from our source in Beacon. Not only coordinates, but passwords—if they haven't changed them. We may have to fight our way in, but what else is new?"

Adam laughed humorlessly. "All right. Meet you there." To his surprise, Sienna gave him a quick hug, then dropped down off the ladder. Adam motioned for the crew chief to come back up. "What did you find on the aircraft?"

The chief lowered his voice. "Someone pulled some of the black boxes. They didn't damage them, just pulled them, in a way not easy to find. That's why it took so long. No fault of the aircraft or the ground crew."

Adam rubbed his chin in thought. "Who preflighted _Wilt?"_

The chief gave a quick look around. "Ilia Amitola."

* * *

_Killbox Alpha_

_South of Winona, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Lie Ren had been accused of being unsympathetic at best to other people's emotions, or even being emotionless himself. Neither was quite true: he just was not one to let people get to him, or one to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

At the moment, however, he was acutely aware of Nora Valkyrie's frustration, and shared it with her.

Below them, in plain sight, was the largest GRIMM army either had ever seen, and they had lived through the horror of GRIMM overrunning a town—and they were restricted from attacking it. He had counted at least fifty Boarbatusks, along with six Goliaths and two Death Stalkers. All of them were headed down the overgrown highway towards La Crosse, through dense woods, and that did not even count the two Nevermores on their way, along with several dozen Beowolves and Ursai, and the King Taijitu hugging the ground over the Boarbatusks.

And yet they had to sit there, orbiting at 15,000 feet, reporting on the progress of the GRIMM horde and waiting for reinforcements. Both of them, with a full load of ordnance. Ren resisted the urge to kick something, and hoped Nora hadn't put a hole in her own instrument panel yet.

"Ren, Cinder. Creamer Flight coming up at your one o'clock level." Ren looked in that direction, and saw the four aircraft coming in to joining up. _We are certainly diverse,_ he thought to himself. Every one of the six aircraft were different—his J-10, Nora's A-10, Cinder Fall's F-15, Emerald Sustrai's Mirage F.1, Mercury Black's F-16, and Ruth Lionheart's Jaguar.

"Ren, Fox. Coffee Flight joining on your eleven o'clock level." Ren almost laughed: now he could add the two remaining aircraft of Coffee: Fox Alasdair and Velvet Scarlatina's Tornado, and Yatsuhachi Datchi's F-2.

"Roger," Ren acknowledged. "Who has command?" He glanced in Cinder's direction. She was a major, and outranked all of them.

"Ren, Cinder." She had noticed him looking at her. "You do. You know the situation better than I do."

Ren took a breath. She was right. Ozpin and Goodwitch had emphasized this in training, and now it was time to put it to good use. Rank didn't matter; knowledge did here.

"Juniper Three, Regency." The AWACS had been listening in. "You are designated raid commander Killbox Alpha. Relay from Beacon: BUFFs on the way. Engage and destroy all aerial GRIMM. Ground GRIMM to be engaged at discretion. Cardinal has CAP over Killbox Bravo. Sun, Ruby, and remaining Juniper Flight elements are on their way. Clear skies, repeat, clear skies."

"Roger, wilco." Ren understood: the Boarbatusks and Goliaths could not hurt the B-52s, but the flight-capable GRIMM certainly could. They had to clear the skies for the vulnerable bombers. "Vector to aerial GRIMM?"

"Ren, Regency—GRIMM are at bearing two-zero-zero, range now forty miles, speed five hundred, angels ten. Witch Lead has engaged Beowolves at rear of formation. Raid count is now two Nevermore, thirty Beowolves, eight Ursai."

Ren remembered another lesson, this one from Wing Commander Port: _when placed in command, command._ "Ren to all Killbox Alpha elements. Turn to two-zero-zero, wall formation; engage when in range and fire at discretion." He kept his voice typically neutral: some of the pilots would be nervous, especially Creamer, who to the best of his knowledge had never been in an actual fight before. Wall formation would mean salvoing their long-range weapons to kill as many GRIMM as possible before the merge. "Nora: engage Taijitu at your three o'clock low. Ruth, Yatsuhachi, you're Iron Hand."

"Roger." Yatsuhachi and Ruth both understood: they would be on flak suppression duties, trying to keep some pressure off Nora. He wondered if he were sending all three to their death. Then again, perhaps they were all going to die. Ren thought of his father, who commanded the local militia of his village, who died fighting GRIMM. _So be it. _

"Killbox Alpha elements, execute." He watched for a moment as Ruth's Jaguar and Yatsuhachi's F-2 peeled away into a shallow dive. Nora returned his gaze for a moment, put a hand on her canopy, then was gone.

Ren turned as well, to join up with his shooters. The five aircraft spread out in echelon. "Velvet, Ren," he radioed. "On you."

"Roger," Velvet sent back. In the backseat of the Tornado, she alone did not have to divide her attention between flying and watching a radar screen. She tapped in commands to the onboard computer, linking to the radars of the other aircraft. She watched the radar display. The GRIMM were now at thirty miles, already in range of the AMRAAM, but optimal range would be a bit closer. She locked her own radar onto four targets. "Stand by." The range closed quickly. Three seconds later, she told Fox, "Shoot!"

Fox pulled the trigger, four times. Four of the Sky Flash missiles nestled beneath the Tornado dropped away, ignited, and roared away, leaving thick white exhaust plumes. "Alasdair, Fox One."

"Cinder, Fox Three."

"Mercury, Fox Three!"

"Ren, Fox Three."

Only Emerald held her fire; her Mirage had older Super 530F missiles, which would need another thirty seconds to be in range. Even without her, there were now eight AMRAAMs and four Sky Flash heading towards the GRIMM. The GRIMM's warning recievers went off, and the drones began evasive maneuvers, switching on internal jammers and dropping chaff clouds. The AMRAAMs got there first: three Beowolves and three Ursai vanished. Ren's command began to lose cohesion as four of them began to switch over to Sidewinders and prepare for the merge; Fox held steady, as the Sky Flash were not fire and forget. The GRIMM tried to evade, but Velvet, with laserlike intensity, kept the radar locked onto them. All four of their missiles hit, downing four Beowolves. Now there were twenty-three Beowolves and seven Ursai. And the two Nevermores, Ren reminded himself.

"Tally-ho on the GRIMM," Cinder called out. Now the two sides were in visual range. They were at the merge: when both sides would meet each other head-on.

"Split and engage," Ren ordered. He climbed, both to gain advantage and to keep situational awareness. Mercury and Emerald both joined up, leaving Cinder to end up covering Fox and Velvet. The Tornado briefly slid into her gunsight, and Cinder ran her finger over the trigger, tempted. Not yet, she cautioned herself. There would be time in the dogfight for "accidents" to happen.

Emerald and Mercury were first to the GRIMM. An Ursa engaged Mercury: he fired a Sidewinder, but was forced to break away and dive when the Ursa returned fire. Emerald had better luck: she went between two Beowolves, throwing off their targeting solution, then fired both her wingtip Sidewinders. Two Beowolves behind the first pair were hit and went into fatal spirals, trailing flame. "Emerald, splash two." She lit her afterburner and climbed hard.

Mercury rolled upwards, lined up the Ursa, and fired another Sidewinder. The Ursa rocked with the hit, but didn't go down, and began turning towards him. He dodged its cannon fire. Emerald saw her wingman. "Mercury, extend out. I got him." Mercury wasn't too pleased about that, but a Beowulf was heading in his direction, and he didn't want to end up as the meat in a GRIMM sandwich. As the F-16 broke away, Emerald, humming tunelessly to herself, locked onto the crippled Ursa, and fired one of her Super 530s. She now had to hold it steady, because like the Sky Flash, the 530 was not fire-and-forget either.

"Emerald, Ren, you've got a Beowulf at your five low." She ignored the call, waiting a precious second. It paid off; the 530 hit the Ursa and blew it apart. "Break left!" That one Emerald didn't ignore: she broke hard to the left as a GRIMM missile sailed past, then turned to engage. She barely decoyed it off with a flare; her Mirage rocked with the near miss. Emerald kicked her tail around as the Beowulf closed in with its cannon. "Mercury, I've got one on me!"

"Cinder, Fox Two." The Beowulf exploded. Emerald blew out her breath as the F-15 flew past. "Thanks, Cinder. Good shot."

* * *

Nora spotted the Taijitu below. Named for the Taoist symbol of balance, it was the GRIMM version of the A-10: strictly meant for ground attack, it was straight winged and twin tailed, but instead of a conventional nose, the Taijitu used a catamaran fuselage with two noses, both ending in heavy cannon. The internal weapons bay bulged with heavy ordnance. They were also heavily armored. It was flying straight and level, but the Taijitu was not designed for dogfighting; normally it would be escorted by Beowolves and Ursai. This one was alone, but there were the two Death Stalkers below it.

"Nora, Ruth, let me get tied in first," Ruth Lionheart radioed; even in a situation as dire as this one, Nora could not help but smile at the Faunus' funny accent. "I'll do a bit of Guy Gibson here."

Nora had no idea what Ruth meant. "Go for it, Ruth!"

Ruth throttled up her Jaguar as fast as it could go, just edging past supersonic speed. She shot over the Taijitu and, to Nora's stunned surprise, even dropped flares. She was making herself a target. Nothing happened. The Taijitu flew on without so much as even a flutter, and none of the Death Stalkers' turrets turned to follow the Jaguar. "That's weird," Nora said to herself.

"Nora, Yatsu," Yatsuhachi said. "I think the Taijitu's out of position. It's not within the Death Stalkers' defensive sphere."

_Oh yeah, that!_ Nora thought. _Guess I should pay more attention in Port's class instead of writing love letters to Ren._ "Roger that, Yatsu. Let's paste the bastard."

"Wait one, Nora. Let me try." Yatsuhachi accelerated, quickly leaving Nora behind. He positioned himself high and behind the Taijitu, where the GRIMM blocked the Death Stalkers, locked on, and let loose four AMRAAMs. All tracked into the Taijitu, which disappeared in smoke and flame. It came out the other end, and for a moment, Nora pushed up her own throttle and prepared to engage, but then the Taijitu staggered, one of its wings tore free, and the GRIMM spiraled downwards, where it landed on top of one of the Death Stalkers. The latter skittered to one side, but returned to course—minus the missile battery on its "tail."

"Yatsu, splash one Taijitu." He climbed back up to rejoin Nora and Ruth.

"Well, that wasn't a chore," Nora laughed. "Let's get back up top and get some more!"

* * *

Ren put the J-10 into a dive and fired an AMRAAM at a Beowulf that was angling towards Fox and Velvet; Cinder had left protecting the Tornado to save Emerald. The missile struck and destroyed the Beowulf. _So many,_ he thought. _There's more GRIMM than we have weapons. _He had seen this before: GRIMM were not particularly bright, even for drones, but they killed by sheer numbers. They would swamp the defenses. "Regency, Ren. We need help."

To Ren's pleasant surprise, it was not the AWACS that answered, but Jaune. "Ren, Jaune. Pyrrha and I are in from the north. Where do you want us?"

Ren smiled. "Take your pick."

Jaune had already scored twice today, downing two White Fang MiGs, but it left him only with Sidewinders and his cannon left. Pyrrha was in no better situation. His eyes went to the fuel gauge; it was low, but with some luck they should be all right. "Pyrrha, I've got three Beowolves twelve o'clock level." He had the lead.

"Roger, tally-ho on the Beowolves. Defensive split."

Jaune waited for a moment. "Break now, Pyrrha! Fox Two!" He fired a Sidewinder at one of the Beowolves, then climbed hard, while Pyrrha fired and dived. Jaune rolled and looked down, and murmured a curse when he saw his missile go wide, chasing a flare. Pyrrha's hit, and another Beowulf headed for the forest below, trailing flame. One of the Beowolves suddenly climbed to meet him, so Jaune dived. The GRIMM was there and gone in a moment, but he turned hard, and remembering something Pyrrha had taught him, touched his speedbrakes just for a moment. The Mirage slowed, and the Beowulf, confused, ended out in front. He switched to guns as the Beowulf began to weave, trying to throw off his aim.

"Jaune, one behind you!" Pyrrha called out. Jaune could not spare a moment. He closed the range and fired. The heavy cannon shells pounded the Beowulf. It spun to the right, trailing smoke, but wasn't dead. He followed it down. "Break right! Break right!" Pyrrha shrilled. Jaune slammed the stick to the right, sensing rather than seeing the Beowulf firing at him.

"Pyrrha?" he called out.

"I'm on him; going to guns. Pull harder!" Jaune pushed the Mirage for all it was worth, grunting with exertion as he tightened the turn to nine-Gs. The GRIMM did not have to worry about hurting a pilot and stayed with him. He saw two cannon shells spiral past his cockpit. "Now would be a good time, Pyrrha!" He was in a tight spiral, and at the speed they were at, it was odds-on which would kill him first, the GRIMM or the forest below.

"Pyrrha, Fox Two!" Jaune strained against gravity and saw the Beowulf explode. He gratefully pulled out of the spiral and leveled out, trying to get his breath. "Pyrrha, you've got lead. Let's get back in the fight." He saw two burning fires on the ground, and wondered if the Beowulf he had wounded had gone in.

They climbed, but Jaune saw an Ursa turning towards them. "Ursa, one o'clock high."

"You're covered." Pyrrha dropped back, watching Jaune's tail while he engaged.

"Okay, big guy," Jaune mused, "let's see what you got." He found out a moment later when the Ursa's heavy cannon erupted in front of him. His hand and feet moved quickly, evading the shells, then opened fire himself. He exhausted the Mirage's ammunition, but it left the Ursa on fire. The tough GRIMM tried to turn as Jaune went past, only to leave itself open to Pyrrha, who finished it off with her own gun.

"Call that shared?" Jaune laughed in spite of the situation.

"Sounds lovely," Pyrrha replied. He could hear the smile in her voice.

* * *

Ren dispatched another Beowulf and watched Fox and Velvet splash an Ursa. Shooting the Beowulf had cost another AMRAAM, while the Tornado was down to its cannon now, all missiles having been expended. "Velvet, Ren, raid count?" He hoped she had been keeping track; he'd lost track.

"Ren, 15 Beowolves, four Ursai, two Nevermore. Tally-ho on the Nevermore."

"I see them." It was hard not to. The Nevermore loomed on the horizon, coming out of the clearing cloud cover. Ren climbed back to try and get control of the dogfight, but knew it was probably impossible at this point—and worse, he was taking himself out of the equation, having to settle on picking off strays. The radio was alive with radio calls; luckily the jamming had ended.

"Emerald, break right!"

"Watch for the Beowulf at nine o'clock low, Jaune!"

"Pyrrha here; I'm on that one."

"Cinder, splash two."

"Pyrrha, splash two."

_Two more Beowolves. 13 now,_ Ren thought to himself. _We're killing them, but not fast enough!_

"Ren, Witch Lead, joining on your left." He looked over and saw Goodwitch's F-22 turning in, and his heart soared. A F-22 would do a lot to turn the tide.

"Witch Lead, good to see you."

"Same here, Ren, but I'm Winchester." Ren sighed involuntarily; Goodwitch was out of ammunition. "I got six of the bastards, but had to work my way around. I'll take over as raid commander; rejoin your flight." She paused. "Nice job."

"Thank you, Witch Lead." Ren spotted a Ursa angling in at the Tornado and dived to engage.

Goodwitch took a breath and switched frequencies. Ren _had_ done a good job, but he simply did not have the experience in this sort of furball, the fighter pilot term for a giant dogfight like this. It was easy to get overwhelmed. Now that she was here—and with not even anything left in her gun—she needed to bring her experience to bear. "Regency, Witch Lead; taking command of Killbox Alpha. Release Cardinal from BARCAP Killbox Bravo, send them west buster. ETA on Sun Flight?"

"Roger, Witch. Be advised Cardinal is Tiger but low on A2A, bingo plus seven. Sun is sweet, ETA one minute." Goodwitch translated that as Cardinal was able to help, but short on missiles and fuel. She would have to chance it, anything would help now. "Relay from Winter Flight: when do you expect clear skies?"

_How the hell should I know?_ "ETA on Winter?"

"Five minutes before they're in your AO."

"Fuck!" Goodwitch said without hitting the radio button. The Beowolves could probably be kept away from the B-52s, but the Nevermores would tear them apart. Her original plan was to let the Nevermores go and let the Mississippi River Barrier SAM crews take them on, but the B-52s had to be on station to destroy the ground GRIMM.

"Ren, Nora, we're coming up on your six low. Where you want us?"

Goodwitch heard the call and interrupted Ren's reply. She spotted the A-10, Jaguar and F-2. "All Juniper Flight elements. Engage that first Nevermore. Coffee, cover them. Creamer, Sun, Cardinal: continue engaging Beowolves and Ursai." Goodwitch let the radio go for a moment, then resumed. "Ruby Flight, location?"

There was no answer.


	52. Shoot For Thrill

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger, but it was getting too long otherwise._

_"Behold the might of the hammer" is a line from Hammerfall's "Hero's Return." If Nora's not a Hammerfall fan, then the universe makes no sense. Karelia also quotes "Gettysburg," because why not._

* * *

_La Crosse_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Sentinel Six coasted to a halt at the interchange of Highway 53 and Interstate 90, where the 1st Armored Division's 37th Armored Regiment, 2nd Battalion had its headquarters. Military policemen directed Karelia Bighorn-Vlata's tank through the interchange, which was choked with people trying to escape La Crosse. The Abrams pulled up next to the command post, underneath the interchange. Karelia pulled herself out of the turret, turned, and kept her pistol trained on Roman Torchwick, who was pushed out by the loader and gunner. Once Torchwick was deposited not so gently on the ground, Karelia helped Sky Lark out of the turret and jumped down next to him.

Colonel Evan Ridinghood walked out of the command post, four APCs joined by a camouflage net. "Afternoon, Karelia. Who's this?" He pointed at Torchwick.

"Afternoon, Colonel. He's an air pirate who got himself shot down—Roman Torchwick." She thumbed at Sky. "This guy's okay. He's out of Beacon. Lieutenant Sky Lark."

Ridinghood nodded to Sky, then helped a burly MP pull Torchwick to his feet. "Torchwick, huh? I heard of you. You're going in for all day, son."

"Oh noes," Torchwick said with mock gravity, "I can't believe you caught me! You've shown me the error of my ways!" This did not amuse the MP, who began dragging him towards a waiting HMMWV. "Easy, there. That's a tailored flight suit."

"You want to ride with him, Lieutenant?" Ridinghood asked Sky. "I don't advise staying here. There's a world of hurt coming."

Despite himself, Sky answered, "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'll stay. It will be interesting to see things from eye level." In reality, he wanted nothing more than to shove Torchwick to one side and ride to wherever they were taking the pirate. His pride as a fighter pilot, however, compelled him to stay: he was not going to allow these groundpounders to see him run.

"Suit yourself, Lieutenant. I'll put you with my forward air control team." He motioned towards the CP. Sky saluted and walked in that direction.

Ridinghood turned to Karelia. "Take Team Sentinel and put them on the east approach to the bridge. Division wants you guys on French Island." He referred to the island that split the Mississippi into two branches just west of the city of La Crosse.

"Wonderful. My back is going to be to the river. What asshole thought of that idea?"

"Me," Ridinghood snapped at her. "I don't want to do it, Karelia, but there's no way we're getting the refugees off in time."

"Why don't we just blow the bridges on the other side of the island?"

Ridinghood shook his head. "Don't have the stuff to knock down bridges that big, and the mayor nixed it, if you can believe it. These people have gotten complacent, and now they're terrified. We can't bring up any reinforcements because of that." He pointed to the interchange above them. "Traffic's backed up for miles. If the GRIMM get in there…"

Karelia sighed. "Let me guess. Not one step back for Team Sentinel."

"Not one step back for the whole fucking 1st Armored. Might not be so bad, though. The boys at Beacon are calling in the big guns. We got B-52s inbound."

"Well, hell, sir," Karelia smiled. "Might be an easy day."

"Yeah, well, the jetters are cutting it close. The leading edge of the Boarbatusks will be here in seven minutes, and the B-52s won't enter the AO unless the fighters have cleared it. And so far, they haven't."

"Tell them to call in more fighters!" Karelia yelled, forgetting rank for a minute. "Gad, it's bad enough the Air Force and Navy gets all the money, and now they can't do their fucking job?"

"Sky down, big chief," Ridinghood warned. "They _have_ called in more." He was cut off by the roar of jet engines as Cardinal Flight engaged their afterburners and headed west.

"That's three airplanes," Karelia observed dryly.

"Yep. That's the 'more.' Well, we've still got the Barrier SAMs if we need them." He patted her shoulder. "Sentinel needs to be on that bridge, Captain."

* * *

_Killbox Alpha_

_South of Winona, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Jaune Arc spared a glance at his fuel gauge, wished he hadn't, and took the lead, Pyrrha on his right, Ren on his right, a burning Beowulf in his wake. Nora was still climbing to join them. "Juniper, this is Jaune!" he puffed out. Dogfighting dried out the mouth and worked up quite the sweat. "We're going in. We cover Nora. Nora, it's up to you!"

"Roger that!"

Jaune said a quick prayer, and accelerated at the Nevermore. It looked just as malevolent as the one Ruby Flight had fought on their first mission, and even at this range, he could see hatches iris open and turrets raise into place. The Nevermore opened fire, and Jaune twisted and turned, knowing that every tracer he spotted was only every fifth shell, and he couldn't see the others. Another quick check of how many missiles he had left—one AMRAAM and his cannon—and he fired the AMRAAM. Pyrrha fired a second later. Both hit the front of the Nevermore, but if they did much damage, Jaune couldn't tell. Ren, who had more missiles, did more damage, and Jaune saw two turrets turn to slag.

Then he was skimming over the Nevermore. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw turrets spinning to engage him, Pyrrha and Ren, but the Nevermore's brain was not used to engaging this many targets. He opened fire with his cannon for moral effect, then they were past. "C'mon, Nora!" he called out.

Nora arrived a second later. Jaune's plan had worked: the turrets did not notice the A-10 until it was too late. She put the nose down and braced as she was thrown forward by the recoil of the heavy GAU-8. Thirty millimeter shells marched the length of the Nevermore and she was rewarded with the huge GRIMM visibly rocking with the hits. "Behold the might of the hammer, motherfucker!" Nora crowed, and as she came away from the Nevermore, she craned her head backwards. The Nevermore was smoking, still flying, but wounded. "One more pass," she said aloud.

"_Nora! Break right!"_ Ren shouted.

Nora slammed the stick right, but then something hit the A-10 with a tremendous blow. The stick was torn out of her hands, her helmet slammed into the canopy, and alarms went off. The Warthog staggered, then stalled, then went into a flat spin.

The Beowulf that had hit her with a missile didn't care. It still had another missile left, and it locked onto the spinning A-10. Ren pulled the J-10 into a turn so tight that the airframe audibly groaned under the strain, but he was out of position. Still, he tried.

"Sun, Fox Two!" Sun Wukong's Ching Kuo dived out of the sun. The Beowulf vanished a split-second before it fired. "Nora, you're in a flat spin! Bail out! Bail out!" he yelled.

Nora couldn't reply even if she wanted to. The centrifugal force was pressing her to the side of the cockpit. She fought against gravity, grabbed the stick, and rammed it into the instrument panel, holding it there with every ounce of strength she possessed. The A-10's nose dropped, air flowed over the wings again, and the Gs eased as she got control back.

She still had to pull out. Nora got herself back into position, and now pulled the stick back into her lap. The A-10's engines strained, and she saw the forests of Minnesota come up to meet her. "Not yet," Nora breathed, "not yet; I'm too damn cute to die!" She felt the Warthog hit the trees, then she was free, back in open air. As she climbed, more alarms went off, then she felt the starboard engine die.

"Nora, Ren! Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Nora saw her hands were shaking badly. The aircraft wasn't handling well. "Lost an engine." She saw Ren's J-10 come up alongside. "How bad?"

"Your nose is shredded, and you've got tail damage."

Nora had noticed that. Reluctantly, she reached forward and hit a red button. Every remaining piece of ordnance on the A-10 dropped away. "Witch Lead, Nora. I'm Winchester and RTB."

"Roger, Nora. Understood. Ren, say state."

"Three actives, full guns." He still had three missiles left.

"Witch, Pyrrha. I'm Winchester. I'll escort her back. Still have some guns left," she lied. Pyrrha's F-16 came in alongside Nora's A-10. "I'll cover her, Ren."

Ren hated to leave Nora, but knew he had to. He put a hand on his canopy for a moment, saw it returned, and climbed back into the fight.

* * *

_La Crosse_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Karelia Bighorn-Vlata looked through her binoculars. There were no GRIMM visible yet, but it couldn't be much longer. She leaned back to look at the sky. There were distant rumbles of explosions, and she could see smoke rising from the horizon, beyond the cliffs that dominated the Minnesota side of the river. Smoke trails crisscrossed the sky, and they were getting closer. To the north, she saw another, far denser smoke cloud still rising. _At least we don't have to worry about the train,_ she thought. _That would've stung._

She had her tanks arrayed on the bridge and the streets surrounding it. Her team knew that retreat was highly unlikely, but behind them there were people still streaming across the bridge. They had abandoned their cars and were on foot. Sentinel had to hold, at least for awhile. Behind her tanks were her infantry, armed with Javelin antitank missiles, and her Bradleys, their TOW launchers raised.

Some brave soul in a OH-58 Kiowa scout helicopter was hovering where the highway descended from the cliffs. "Sentinel Six, White Wolf Five One. Spot report. GRIMM in sight, distance ten miles." She saw the Kiowa raise up, turn, and retreat back into the woods, where it resumed its scanning, the masthead sight the only thing that was exposed over the cliffs. Behind Team Sentinel, there were a dozen AH-64 Apaches, looking like malevolent wasps, armed to the teeth with Hydra rockets and Hellfire missiles. The problem was, the Apaches would be in trouble against the Death Stalkers, who were designed to engage much faster targets. This is where combined arms would come in—the Air Force would engage the Death Stalkers to free up the Apaches to engage the Goliaths and Boarbatusks—but the Air Force was busy.

"Sentinel Six, roger that."

Her loader stuck his head out of the turret. "How's it looking?"

"Sammy, if the Air Force doesn't get its head out of its ass, we're going to need buckets to catch the lead."

* * *

_Killbox Alpha_

_South of Winona, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

"Creamer, Witch. Make the next pass. Sun and Cardinal Flights, keep the Beowolves off," Goodwitch radioed.

"Roger," Cinder replied. There was no shirking this; the Nevermore arriving over Beacon would ruin everyone's plans—and in all honesty, Cinder had no intention of doing it anyway. Her blood was up, and she'd spent the battle with a death's head grin behind her oxygen mask. She might be Salem's instrument, she might have training in infiltration and silent killing, but at heart, Cinder Fall had always been a fighter pilot. This is what she lived for, more than Salem, more than anything: the hunt and the kill. She casually dispatched another Beowulf with a missile shot, and led Creamer flight against the Nevermore.

Like Juniper had, Cinder, Emerald and Mercury lofted their missiles into the Nevermore, then switched over to guns. Ruth brought up the rear as Cardin and Dove, down to their last missiles, covered her from any Beowolves or Ursai. Her Jaguar was equipped with two heavy cannon and four Sidewinders; it might be enough.

Yet the Nevermore, primitive brain it might have, had learned. It had analyzed the first attack, realized that the initial attacks would be decoys, and concentrated on the last aircraft in line. Heavy shells tracked on the Jaguar, and though Ruth spun the aircraft, three hit: one in the nose, one in the canopy, and one in the left engine. The windscreen caved in and starred, but held; the engine exploded and sent fragments spiraling into the other, and something in the nose started burning, filling the cockpit with smoke. "God's truth," Ruth grumbled, and hit the radio as she climbed away from the Nevermore's guns. "Witch, Ruth, I'm hit."

Goodwitch saw the smoking Jaguar. "Roger, Ruth. RTB. Sun Flight, stand by, you're up-"

"I'm not done yet!" Ruth shouted. She pulled a lever on the side of the instrument panel, which she could now barely see because of the smoke, and blew the canopy off. The slipstream instantly cleared the smoke. Her instrument panel was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, warning that the other engine was going to fail soon, but Ruth Lionheart would be well and truly damned before she left her first battle without a kill. She rolled the Jaguar and dived on the Nevermore from above, keeping her head below the windscreen so the near-supersonic slipstream didn't tear her head off. Of course, now she could barely see through the starred plexiglass, but to Ruth, that was a minor annoyance.

By pure accident, her attack worked. Sun was already leading Scarlet, Sage and Neptune in a missile attack, and the Nevermore was concentrated on that, its electronic brain having classified the Jaguar as destroyed. Too late, proximity sensors picked up the diving aircraft, but by that time, Ruth salvoed her Sidewinders. All four easily tracked on the burning Nevermore and hit. As the GRIMM shuddered, Ruth skimmed past it, barely avoided a collision, and put some shots into the Nevermore with her cannon for good measure. "Eat a _dick!"_ she shouted as she went past. It wasn't the best battle cry, but it was the best she could come up with on short notice.

"Sun Flight, hold fire and break off!" Goodwitch ordered.

Sun, Scarlet and Neptune scattered a second before they would've fired. Sage, on the other hand, had already fired both his Sparrows and Sidewinders. "_Cazzo!"_ he cursed, and pushed up the throttle. The F-104 easily broke the sound barrier, even as his missiles missed.

It didn't matter. The Nevermore seemed to hesitate in midair, then its right wing—already weakened by Nora and finished off by Ruth—broke and then tore free. The GRIMM went into a flat spin and pancaked into the forest, then exploded. "Got him!" Emerald couldn't help but call out.

"Roger that. Beacon, Witch. Splash one Nevermore. Still one left. ETA Winter?"

"Three minutes, Witch."

"Ruth here. I'm afraid that's it for me, chaps." Goodwitch looked in that direction, and she could see the Jaguar in a gentle climb. "Flameout. I'll try and keep her in the air as long as I can."

"Regency, relay to Beacon; scramble Jolly Greens." The AWACS acknowledged, and Goodwitch sealed Ruth Lionheart off in a section of her mind. There were still just under a dozen Beowolves left, plus a handful of Ursai—and the one Nevermore.

"Witch Lead, Blake. Squawk flash."

Goodwitch quickly repeated the message to everyone in Killbox Alpha. "Blake, Witch. We're sweet."

"Roger, Witch. Blake, Fox Three."

Goodwitch looked for the familiar sight of the Tomcat, but did not see it. She did see smoke trails on the horizon, and knew: Blake had fired Phoenix missiles. The huge missiles curved through the sky, then dived into the Nevermore at Mach 3. Both hit, and the GRIMM rocked. Its turrets swiveled in vain, trying to find the target.

"Witch Lead, Ruby. We're here. Sorry it took so long."

Goodwitch smiled. "Ruby, say state."

"Ruby has two heat, Yang has four actives, Weiss one active, and Blake has two actives. All of us have guns."

"Killbox Alpha elements, Witch. Who has the most left?"

There was silence on the channel as everyone checked whatever was left. "Neptune here. I have six actives."

Goodwitch nodded to herself. Neptune now had the best chance of bringing down the Nevermore. "All Killbox Alpha elements: cover Neptune."

* * *

Whatever controlled the GRIMM—or perhaps it was the GRIMM themselves—had deduced their opponents' plan. The remaining smaller aerial GRIMM clustered around the Nevermore to protect it. Below, the Goliaths, Death Stalkers and Boarbatusks continued their inexorable march, turning south on the overgrown highway towards La Crosse and the Mississippi River, now only ten miles away.

"This is Neptune; making my run, west to east." Neptune stood the Hornet on its wing and came in at the rear of the Nevermore. The GRIMM turned and swarmed towards him, but Sun and Creamer Flights were ready on his right side, while Ruby Flight took up position on his right. Sage Ayana firewalled his throttle and shot past at twice the speed of sound: flat out speed was the F-104's forte, and nothing could touch it. He was acting as a decoy, too fast for the Nevermore's turrets to track, but enough to make the huge GRIMM notice.

Neptune was not particularly religious, but he crossed himself anyway, opened the throttle, and closed the distance. The AMRAAMs were already locked on, but he wanted to make sure they hit. He was seized with the sudden impulse to radio Weiss and demand a kiss if he survived this, but the wild notion was past in a second.

Neptune Vasillas' world narrowed to the rear, flattened engines of the Nevermore. He ignored everything else, even as tracers from the GRIMM skipped across this wings. The Hornet shuddered with a hit and one of his wingtip missile rails disappeared, along with the Sidewinder. A Beowulf dived at him from above, was destroyed by Cinder, and Neptune flew through the smoke, hearing fragments rattle across the fuselage.

Then he had the shot he wanted. "Neptune, Fox Three." He squeezed the trigger six times. All six AMRAAMs left the rails and tracked on the Nevermore. He climbed hard, going to afterburner and hoping no one was in his way.

Everyone in Killbox Alpha held their breath.

All six hit. The Nevermore pitched up and down, as if someone had kicked it, then explosions rippled along the central spine. The GRIMM suddenly went up in a tremendous explosion, both wings folding over the center, and the burning remains fell into the forest. Goodwitch let out a breath in relieft. "Regency, Winter from Witch: splash two Nevermore."

"Witch, Winter." Goodwitch recognized Winter Schnee's voice. "Aerial GRIMM remaining?"

"About half a dozen, total."

"Good enough. We're coming in."

* * *

_La Crosse_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

"Holy shit," Karelia breathed. The western horizon was a mass of flames and smoke. The cliffs had blocked the Nevermore until the moment it crashed, but even through her helmet, she had heard it coming like the angel of death. A F-15 and a F-16 shot over the cliffs and rocketed over head, and Karelia couldn't resist punching the air. "That's the style, boys!" she yelled after them. "That's the style!"

White Wolf Five One spoiled the moment. "Sentinel Six, White Wolf Five One, spot report, GRIMM now five miles. Should break cover in two minutes."

"Okay, now we're in it." Karelia keyed her mike. "Sentinel Six to Sentinel elements. Occupy firing positions and stand by to engage."

"Bravo Two Five, air raid warning, north." Karelia turned in that direction, and felt her mouth go dry as two Beowolves streaked out of the cliffs and headed across the river. Both suddenly exploded, and a moment later another F-15 came into view. It turned and came over Team Sentinel's positions, rocking its wings. Karelia waved, wondering when the USAF had started painting its fighters with yellow noses. "Bravo Two Five, cancel that."

In the wake of the F-15's passing, it was suddenly quiet. Karelia raised her helmet just a little, and in the distance, she could just barely hear trees being crushed and branches snapping. The turret on her Abrams turned slightly to face northwest. But now there was a new sound, coming from the east, a dim roar. She turned in her hatch, raised her binoculars, and could not stifle a gasp as contrails came into view. Then multiplied.

"Cap, you okay?"

"Oh my God," Karelia breathed.

"Cap?"

She dropped down into the turret and shut her hatch. "Here comes the rain, boys."


	53. The Longest Time

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Bringing the air battle to an end. It's been a tough one to write. I also fell behind and lost my cushion (thanks to writing "One Night in Atlas" over on AO3). One or two more chapters after this one to clean up some loose ends._

_A few technical notes: BUFF (Big Ugly Fat Fella, in the clean version) is the nickname for the B-52 (Stratofortress is the official name). Beepers are alarms that automatically go off after a pilot has ejected-in theory. Because they tend to go across all frequencies, pilots will sometimes switch them off to keep from jamming up the radio. Ruth's negative beeper could mean that either she didn't get out, or she simply switched them off.  
_

_Tobogganing and "towing" were used on several occasions by KC-135 and KA-3 crews during Vietnam. Michael Estocin (who was later posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor) was "towed" back to his carrier by a KA-3 while piloting a badly damaged A-4, in a manner very similar to what happens to Ruby here._

* * *

_La Crosse_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

Above La Crosse, the six B-52s spread out slightly. Winter wanted maximum coverage. They were at eighteen thousand feet—a little lower than usual, but she also wanted to make sure they would not short round and hit the Army troops below.

"Pilot, bombardier. We're at the IP, steady on course. Bombs away in three minutes." He touched a button. "Doors open." Behind and below the cockpit the bomb bay doors slowly dropped open. "Stand by."

Winter looked out the cockpit windows. Below here, the forest was filled with smoke where GRIMM had gone down. Fighters milled around. "Witch Lead to all Killbox Alpha elements. Clear the airspace. Keep any remaining GRIMM away from the bombers." Winter smiled. She could see nothing flying that was enemy. The fighter pilots had done their job. Now it was the bombers' turn.

"EWO, pilot, countermeasures."

"Pilot, EWO, countermeasures on." Each B-52 was already radiating enough electronic jamming to fry any radar, but now chaff bundles and flares dropped from the bombers at random intervals.

"On my mark," the bombardier said. He sounded bored. "Three…two…one." A pause. "Bombs away."

Winter felt the B-52 jolt, then begin to rise as seventy thousand pounds of bombs fell from the bomb bay. It lasted about two minutes, then the bombardier reported the bay doors closing. Winter leaned over the pilots as Smitty turned on the bomber's electro-optical viewing system—a fancy name for two television cameras beneath the nose. He pointed them downwards. Winter could just make out the last bombs falling.

A few seconds passed. Then she saw the first detonate. Circular shockwaves reached out from each small explosion, then more and more until they were overlapping—and that was just from her bomber.

* * *

Yang pulled up and climbed, quickly leaving behind the river and La Crosse; she had strayed dangerously close to the bomb path, and getting caught underneath B-52s was a way to experience a short and exciting life. Now she had a front row seat.

The first B-52 dropped its bombs, and the last bomb was not gone from the bomb bay before the second started, and then the third. With good visibility and little wind, the bomb run was perfect. She watched in awe as the bombs exploded. She figured each B-52 carried a full load, and remembered the maximum capacity of B-52H from her days in officers' school—70,000 pounds each. With six B-52s, that meant 420,000 pounds of high explosive was raining down on the GRIMM, almost half a million pounds.

The GRIMM ceased to exist. Even the Death Stalkers could not survive the massive amounts of ordnance being dropped on them. Shockwaves snapped the legs off the Goliaths, and they fell to their knees, to be finished off by yet more bombs. The comparatively less armored Boarbatusks were blown apart. The last B-52 timed its drop so that its final bombs landed on the ridgeline only five miles from the tanks of Team Sentinel, rattling the tank crews but doing no damage.

"Witch to Winter," Yang heard Goodwitch say as the B-52s came off the bomb run. "I'll give you some BDA."

"Witch, Yang. I'll follow you down."

"Good idea, Yang. Witch is in, west to east. Yang, follow me in trail." Yang clicked her mike twice and dived, settling in behind Goodwitch's F-22. They came around a ridge, and Yang's breath caught in her throat. What had been a verdant forest overlooking an old highway was no longer: it was the surface of the moon. Highway and valley was gone, replaced by torn earth, splintered trees, and the smoking remains of GRIMM. Nothing moved, let alone fired back. Yang followed Goodwitch into a climb. "Witch to Winter. BDA 100 percent. All targets destroyed. Bravo Zulu, BUFFs."

"That's good to hear, Witch." Yang could hear the relief in Winter's voice. "We are RTB."

Goodwitch returned to altitude. "Regency, relay to La Crosse: all GRIMM destroyed. Stand down from alert." After the AWACS acknowledged, Goodwitch had one last thing to do. "All Killbox Alpha elements, form on me. Flight leaders, do a check in. Ruby?"

"Ruby Flight, check in," Yang heard Ruby call out.

"Weiss."

"Blake."

Yang keyed her mike. "Yang." They'd all made it. In fact, if her calculations were correct, she was in the clubhouse now—Yang was an ace too. _Stick that in your ear, Rubes,_ she thought good naturedly.

She listened to all the other flights check in. Juniper was short Nora and Pyrrha, but they were nearly back to Beacon—they would be fine. Cardinal was short Sky Lark, but that was also known; Yang had seen his parachute come down near some Army pukes, so he was probably okay too.

"Creamer Lead," she heard Cinder Fall say. "Creamer Four is down. She bailed out about a minute ago. Negative beeper. All other Creamers fine." _Negative beeper,_ Yang thought, seeing the vivacious Ruth Lionheart in her mind's eye. That could mean anything, though.

"Sun Lead." That was Sun Wukong. "All in. Sage and Neptune are already RTB."

"Coffee Two? Yatsu?" Witch asked. Coco was already back at Beacon, having somehow gotten home.

It was a moment before Yatsuhachi came back up. "Witch, Yatsu. Coffee Three is not checking in."

"Coffee Three, this is Witch," Goodwitch said. "Check in." Nothing. Goodwitch repeated herself. "Regency, have you heard from Coffee Three Alpha or Bravo?" The AWACS replied in the negative, then tried to contact either Fox or Velvet. There was no answer. Goodwitch repeated the call once more. "Jolly Greens, are you listening?"

"This is Jolly Green 83. Roger."

"Jolly Green, Coffee Three and Creamer Four are down. Negative beeper."

"Witch, Jolly Green 83, Jolly Green 84 has a flare about thirty miles south of Killbox Alpha. No ground fire, so we're moving in." Yang breathed a sigh of relief. That should be where Ruth bailed out at. If she could fire a flare, she was at least uninjured enough to do so. "Location on Coffee Three Alpha and Bravo?"

"Unknown, Jolly Green. We didn't even know they were down."

Yang looked at her fuel gauge. Except for maybe Blake's F-14, her Silent Eagle had the most fuel of any aircraft in the air. Everyone else had to be short, but she still had at least two hours left. "Witch, Yang. I can RESCAP. Fuel's good."

"Witch, Blake. I can stay as well." The F-14 was designed for long patrols as well.

"Roger. Yang, Blake, assume RESCAP." They would cover the vulnerable Jolly Greens as rescue combat air patrol—RESCAP. There probably wasn't anything left to oppose them, but RESCAP also provided more eyes. They had to find Fox and Velvet. _Shit,_ Yang thought, _if they even got out. And if they did, we gotta hope the GRIMM didn't get them, or they didn't land in the bomb pattern. Wonder what got them?_

Then a bad situation got worse. "Witch, Ruby. I think I might have a problem here. I'm at bingo minus eight." Yang's eyes quickly found the red-trimmed F-16. There was a puff of white smoke behind it, then more. Her throat tightened. Ruby was losing fuel.

"Ruby, you're trailing fuel." Weiss had noticed it as well. "Can you make Beacon?"

A second or two passed, the longest seconds in Yang's life. "Negative."

A new voice entered the channel. "Ruby, this is Brown Anchor. We're at bearing three zero zero, ten miles. Can you make it?"

"Yeah—roger that, Brown Anchor! Heading for you right now."

"Brown Anchor, Witch," Goodwitch sent out. "Meet her halfway if possible, on my authority." Goodwitch was taking a chance. Tankers were not supposed to cross into the Dead Zones under any circumstances.

"Roger that, Witch."

"Blake, RESCAP on station." Yang heard the radio call, and had to shut Ruby out of her mind. She had to cover the Jolly Greens.

* * *

Ruby watched her fuel gauge with increasing alarm. Not really alarm, she thought to herself—just a lot of concern. She didn't remember getting hit, but in the confusion and excitement of the battle, it could have happened. But she was losing fuel, and if she didn't get some in five minutes, she was going to be joining Sky, Ruth, Velvet and Fox on the ground. She could glide over to Wisconsin, so assuming she wasn't hurt in the ejection, she would be all right, but she didn't want to leave _Crescent Rose_ unless it was life or death. The gauge hovered maddeningly just over zero. There was always a little bit left in the tanks that didn't show up on the gauges, or so fighter pilot superstition always held.

Then she saw the tanker. It was one of the older KC-135s, probably older than Ozpin, but still serving. The dark camouflage stood out against the blue sky and scattered clouds. As she watched, the tanker began to turn. "Brown Anchor, Ruby Lead, tally-ho."

"Roger, Ruby; got you in sight." She saw the boom lower from the back of the aircraft.

_Got to do this in one shot._ Ruby made a quick check of the sky around her—Weiss was well off and to the right. "Weiss, fuel state?"

"I'm fine, Ruby. You're losing more fuel." Ruby kicked the tail around, and could see the white stream behind her.

"Brown Anchor, Ruby. You sure you want to try this?" Ruby really didn't want to eject, but a stray spark hitting that fuel stream might blow up both aircraft. She could eject, but the tanker crew couldn't.

"We got you, Ruby." The tanker crew wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Roger." Ruby took a breath, eased up the throttle a little, opened the refueling door on the F-16's spine, and closed in on the tanker. The boom came down above her. Another quick check of the sky and the instrument panel. Ruby now had to be truly an extension of her aircraft: she had to watch the boom, watch the spacing to avoid a collision. The boom's tip went over the canopy, only three feet away, and she had to resist the urge to duck. The boom operator knew his job, though. "Ruby, up a bit, little more speed." The boom closed. "Little more up." Ruby moved the stick. "Contact." She felt the boom hit home. Ruby stole a glance at the fuel gauge. It went up just a little. "You're receiving."

"Brown Anchor, not getting a lot here. I think I'm losing it almost as fast as you're giving it."

There was a pause. "Ruby, we'll tow you home."

Ruby sighed. "Roger, Brown Anchor. Thank you." It wasn't a real tow, of course, but Ruby would remain on the boom all the way back to Beacon.

* * *

Blake swept over the forest below. It was dense—it would have been dense even before the nuclear war, but now, it was overgrown and thick. She split her time between her own eyesight and the TCS below _Gambol Shroud's_ nose.

"Jolly Green 83, Ruby Three. Tally-ho on the crash site." Blake saw Yang's F-15 fly low over a small ridge and waggle her wings. Blake was there a moment later. The Tornado had hit the top of the ridge, but there was nothing left of the aircraft besides a blackened streak. Usually there was a tail left, but not in this case. Blake could tell that the aircraft had hit flat, but there was no way to tell if the canopy was still there. She throttled back and went around again, dipping the F-14's wing. The TCS was not as helpful as she'd like.

Then Blake saw the flash. "Jolly Green, Ruby Four! Flash at my three o'clock low!" She dropped her flaps, going as slow as she could without risking a stall. If there were any GRIMM left, they could not miss. She was less worried about that as she was about the flash. It could be anything—a shiny piece of wreckage, old or new, a random piece of metal, a GRIMM, or a signal mirror. Then she saw the flash again. Blake raised her flaps and began a tight circle around where the flash was. "Coffee Three Alpha, Coffee Three Bravo, this is Ruby Four," Blake radioed. "Come up. Fox, Velvet, come up on Guard."

There was nothing. Blake made another circuit, and noticed Yang was doing the same thing at a higher altitude, then dropped flares. "Coffee Three Alpha—"

Static crackled. "Ruby Three, Coffee Three Bravo!" Blake recognized Velvet's British accent, even through the tinny survival radio. "Sure is good to hear your voice! Coffee Three Alpha is here with me. Popping flare." A thin trail of smoke came up from the woods, to burn red.

"Tally-ho on the flare!" Blake called out happily. "Jolly Green 83, do you have the flare?"

"Roger that, Ruby Four. Coffee Three Bravo, we need you to pop smoke."

There was a pause. "Popping smoke," Velvet said, and Blake saw purple smoke curling up through the trees. "I have a purple," Jolly Green 83 called out. "Coming in. Coffee Three Bravo, say condition."

"I'm okay," Velvet said, forgetting radio parlance for a moment. "Fox is hurt."

"Rubies are holding high," Blake said, and followed Yang into a holding pattern. The Jolly Green—officially known as the Sikorsky MH-53J Super Jolly Green Giant—whirred in from the east. It stopped and hovered over the thin wisps of purple smoke. As Blake made another orbit, she saw the tiny figure of the parajumper go out on the cable; at the base of it was a flower-shaped, metallic device called a jungle penetrator. It would force its way through the trees by weight, then could be folded out on as seats. The cable and the PJ went down into the trees.

Blake's mouth was dry. If any GRIMM had escaped the B-52 strike, they could not pass up such a tempting target. She kept her eyes on the forest around the Jolly Green, praying there would be no movement or ground fire.

There wasn't. Moments later, the cable came back up, and even at the distance they were at, Blake could see the PJ, Fox and Velvet. The PJ was holding Fox onto the penetrator. "Regency, Jolly Green 83. Coffee Three's recovered. Repeat, two pilots in the clubhouse."

"Make that three, Regency!" Jolly Green 84 sang out. "Creamer Four's aboard and won't stop talking."

Blake grinned. "Jolly Greens, Ruby Four. Let's get the hell out of Dodge." She and Yang crisscrossed over the helicopter as it turned east and headed for the river.

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_3 May 2001_

It was only ten minutes, if that, but for Ruby Rose, it was the longest ten minutes of her life. Not only did she have to stay connected to the KC-135, but she had to stay connected as it entered a shallow dive. It was called tobogganing, and one mistake could end up with two wrecked airplanes. Ruby solemnly promised never to make fun of tanker crews again.

"Beacon in sight," Brown Anchor called out. "Ruby Lead, we're going to drop you off here."

"Roger, roger," Ruby replied in relief. "Hey, Brown Anchor, I owe you guys a case of beer." She was underage to buy it, but she'd find a way.

"We'll hold you to that," the boomer replied. "Disconnect…now." The boom came out, and raised back towards the tanker. Ruby closed the refueling door and descended faster as the tanker turned south, towards its base at O'Hare.

"Beacon, Ruby Lead," she called out. "Declaring emergency. Need straight in approach. Fuel critical."

"Ruby Lead, Beacon," the controller replied, calmly. He had been handling emergencies all day. "You are cleared to Runway 03 Right. 03 Left is blocked due to crash. Cleared for straight-in approach. Winds are calm, visibility 20 miles. You need no longer respond to transmissions." The controller was not going to distract her. Since conditions were good, he probably would not need to.

Now it was a race. Ruby lowered the landing gear, which caused drag, which ate into her fuel. She switched off the low fuel alarm. She hated to drop her flaps some, but she was coming in too fast. More drag. Ruby found herself breathing hard into her mask. The runway was right in front of her, but if her engine died, she would have to eject. _Just a little more, Crescent Rose. Just a little more._

The "piano keys" of the runway threshold slipped underneath the F-16. Ruby counted down the altitude in her head, then felt the main gears touch the runway. The aircraft slowed, and she popped her speedbrakes to slow it more. Then, gently, she put _Crescent Rose's_ nose gear down. It was actually one of her better landings; she didn't leave a puff of smoke. "Whew," she said. "What a day."

She taxied into the hardstand, passing the wreckage of Coco Adel's Mirage F.1. It lay on its side, one wing bent upwards, the nose cone gone. The canopy was gone, but the seat was there and empty, which meant Coco had at least survived the crash. Ruby was one of the last to come in, and the crowd that had formed around the others parted to let her park. As she turned into the hardstand, the engine finally died; inertia carried her into her parking space. Once it had stopped, Ruby reached out and patted the instrument panel. "Good job today, baby." She opened the canopy and looked up into her burly chief's grinning face as she pulled off her oxygen mask and helmet. "Sorry, Chief, I dinged her up again."

"No sweat, Lieutenant. We'll fix her. You okay?"

"Yep!" Ruby followed the chief down the ladder and was instantly surrounded by dozens of people. "How many?" Neptune asked. Ruby shrugged and held up a finger. Everyone cheered anyway.

The crowd parted again as _Myrtenaster_ taxied in, canopy up and refueling probe out—Weiss' subtle way of giving everyone the finger. They followed her to the revetment next to Ruby, who was glad to be alone for a moment.

Then the air was split by the sound of jet engines. Ruby ducked involuntarily as _Gambol Shroud_ came over at a thousand feet, wings raked back, beating up the base in approved United States Marine Corps fashion. As she climbed away, Yang, not to be outdone, came over in the same fashion, but threw _Ember Celica_ into a victory roll.

Ruby jumped in the air, her yells of triumph drowned out by the roar of the F-15's engines.


	54. And We Danced

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story arc still has two chapters left, but it's about done. Then we'll move on to "On RWBY Wings 2: Vytal Flag."_

_This chapter gives a full order of battle of what is at JRB Beacon at this point in the story, along with kills. Pretty sure my kill count is correct. The reason why Pyrrha's and Coco's kill counts are higher is that Pyrrha's Crete kills are counted, as well as whatever Coco shot down over Iraq. (It was mentioned waaay back in Chapter 4 or so that Coco, Pyrrha and Ruby were the only aces at Beacon when Vytal Flag started._

_The song Nora and Yang are mentioned as singing is real! It's by the fighter pilot band Dos Gringos-"I Wish I Had a Gun Like the A-10." You can find it (and their other songs) on YouTube. Their songs are fighter pilot songs, which mean they are vulgar and ribald. Yang being asked to show her breasts is also pretty accurate for a fighter pilot gathering-I was at one in Las Vegas where a woman came in to complain about the noise, and got exactly that. Fighter jocks aren't PC, never have been, and never will be...and I imagine the female fighter pilot community is no different._

_Finally, the damage to Nora's A-10? Based on a combination of several true stories. My uncle served in Battle Damage Repair during Desert Storm, and he worked on an A-10 that came home with about that damage. Also worth looking up is the story of Kim "Killer Chick" Campbell, who brought home an A-10 in 2003 that was about in the same shape as Magnhild._

_As always, thanks for reading!_

* * *

_Building 111713 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_4 May 2001_

The sun had set on Joint Base Beacon, but the party was just getting started at the officers' club. The new aces were held aloft on the pilots' shoulders and paraded around, with much beer being thrown on them. Yang screamed in delight and took a drag on a full bottle of champagne, then poured half over Weiss' head, who screamed for other reasons. Across the club, Ren took a pull from his beer, unusually ebullient, Nora's head scraping the ceiling as she rode on his shoulders and drank from two beers. Next to Ren was Jaune, carried by a laughing Pyrrha. Behind them was carried Cinder and Emerald; Cinder looked faintly disgusted by the entire affair, but didn't turn down a beer, while Emerald drank and cheered with the rest of them. Bringing up the rear was Velvet and Fox, the latter with his leg in a cast but already halfway to inebriation, having refused painkillers in favor of getting stone drunk. They had spirited him, Coco, Velvet and Sky Lark out of the hospital, while Ozpin carefully looked the other way. Sky and Velvet were not hurt, but had been kept for observation; Coco's arm was in a sling, but she was feeling no pain. Muslims were not supposed to drink, but Coco had observed that Allah had a special dispensation for fighter pilots, especially those who had brought back wrecked airplanes.

Goodwitch was in attendance, leaning against the bar, with a Coke in her hands, figuring that someone needed to stay sober. Ruby and Blake had taken one of the corner tables for Ruby Flight. Both were leaning back in their chairs, Ruby with her one beer for the night, Blake with a glass of bourbon. Ruby surveyed the crowd and felt old, although she was the youngest. Her eyes strayed to the Ace Board, hung up behind the bar:

RUBY FLIGHT

Ruby Rose (1st Lt, USAF) F-16A(ADF) Falcon 9

Blake Belladonna (1st Lt, USMC) F-14GS Tomcat 8.5

Yang Xiao Long (Capt, USAF) F-15SE Silent Eagle 6

Weiss Schnee (1st Lt., Luftwaffe) Typhoon 7

JUNIPER FLIGHT

Jaune Arc (1st Lt., AdA) Mirage 2000C 5.5

Pyrrha Nikos (Major, HAF) F-16C Falcon 21.5

Lie Ren (Capt., CUAF) J-10 Vigorous Dragon 7

Nora Valkyrie (1st Lt., USAF) A-10A Warthog 1.5

CARDINAL FLIGHT

Cardin Winchester (Capt., USAF) F-15C Eagle 3

Russel Thrush (1st Lt., USAF) F-16C Falcon 3

Dove Bronzewing (1st Lt., USAF) CF-18A Hornet 3

Sky Lark (1st Lt., RMAF) Hawk 200 0

CREAMER FLIGHT

Cinder Fall (Capt., USAF) F-15C Eagle 7

Ruth Lionheart (F/O, RAF) Jaguar GR.1A 0.5

Mercury Black (1st Lt., USAF) F-16C Falcon 4

Emerald Sustrai (Capt., EDA) Mirage F.1CE 5

COFFEE FLIGHT

Coco Adel (Capt., IqAF) Mirage F.1EQ 6

Yatsuhachi Daichi (1st Lt., JASDF) F-2A 3

Fox Alasdair/Velvet Scarlatina (Flight Lt./F/O, RAF) Tornado F.3 5

SUN FLIGHT

Sun Wukong (Capt., CUAF) FCK-1A Ching Kuo 5

Scarlet David (Lt., IDF/AF) Lavi 3

Sage Ayana (1st Lt., AMI) F-104S 0

Neptune Vasilias (Lt., USN) F/A-18C Hornet 1.5

Coco, Sky and Sage were the only ones without kills, but no one held it against them. All of them were just happy to be alive.

"How does it feel to be the second highest ranking pilot at Beacon?" Blake shouted at Ruby over the noise.

"Feels great!" Ruby took a pull from the beer. It didn't taste all that great, but it tasted better because it meant she was still alive.

"They figure out what happened to _Crescent Rose?"_ Blake yelled.

Ruby reached into a pocket of her flight suit and dropped a piece of metal no bigger than her thumb onto the table, then leaned close to Blake so she wouldn't have to yell too much. "Piece of the train," she said loudly. "Chief picked it out of the fuselage."

"Shit," Blake breathed. Ruby was lucky it hadn't done more than it did.

"Yeah, no fooling."

Blake drank more of the bourbon. She felt like getting tight that night. Not passed-out drunk, just tight. She felt vindicated, having shot down Roman Torchwick, who was currently cooling his heels in the Beacon brig. _And no Adam,_ she thought, wondering why the Moonslice had not been in the fight. She wondered where the White Fang had gone, but made a decision: tonight, she wouldn't worry about it.

She was suddenly grabbed by Ruth Lionheart, who grabbed a shocked Blake by the cheeks and kissed her on the lips. Next she went over to Ruby and tried to do the same, but at the last minute Ruby dodged so the kiss landed on her cheek; the Faunus shrugged, slapped her back, and went on to the next victim. She hadn't even bothered going to the hospital; uninjured, she was already very drunk and weaved dangerously towards Scarlet. Ruby blew out her breath: there was no way in hell she was going to allow her first kiss to be from a blitzed Ruth Lionheart.

Yang climbed off the shoulders of Yatsuhachi onto the bar. She had two beers under her belt and had a nice buzz going. She raised the champagne bottle to the crowd, who raised their drinks in return. "Here's to all of us, you magnificent bastards!" The cheer was deafening. Yang took a big drink and threw the rest to a giggling Emerald.

Nora leapt onto the bar next to Yang. "Hey, you assholes!" she yelled. "I don't know any tricks or nothing, so…" She grabbed the zipper on her flight suit and began pulling it down. The crowd went quiet and Goodwitch looked up, alarmed; this was how Nora had ended up naked the last time. She whisked the zipper to her navel, and Nora's impressive assets bulged out of the flight suit—but were covered in her A-10 BOOP T-shirt. There was a noticeable _awww_ from the pilots, but then Nora threw her arm around Yang. "So I'm gonna sing!" She took another drink from both beers and began belting out a song about how everyone wished they had a gun like the A-10. Yang put her arms around her and joined in. When they were done, there were cheers, catcalls, hoots, and at least one call for Yang to show her tits. Yang unzipped her flight suit and flashed her yellow bra, then she and Nora started kicking their legs like a Rockettes dance number, quickly joined by Pyrrha and Neptune. Once they were finished, all three girls kissed Neptune; as the man who had brought down the last Nevermore, no one begrudged him.

Goodwitch signaled to the bartender for gin. It was going to be a very long night. As he brought it, the phone rang. He answered it, nodded, and tugged on Yang's flight suit leg until she looked down. "Flightline called!" he yelled. "Your crew chief wants you!"

Yang cocked her head quizzically at that. If her crew chief wanted her, there was something wrong with _Ember Celica,_ and it was rather odd that it couldn't wait until in the morning. It wasn't like it was going to explode on the ground or something. She hopped down off the bar and left unnoticed.

* * *

Joint Base Beacon had a small correctional facility—the brig to the Navy and Marines, the stockade to the Army and Air Force. It was mainly intended for less serious crimes, so it was not the most secure place to hold Roman Torchwick.

Ironwood still made it a point to see him. Torchwick lay on his cot behind bars, with four armed guards in attendance. He looked bored, staring at the ceiling, now in military issue pajamas rather than his flight suit.

"Give us a minute," he told the guards, who went out into the hallway and closed the door. "So you're Roman Torchwick."

"Nice to be famous," Torchwick replied.

"Infamous would be a better term," Ironwood replied. "I'm told you have refused to cooperate."

"You may find this hard to believe, General sir," Torchwick smiled, looking at him for the first time, "but I'm not a fan of authority. It's the whole pirate thing."

"You might want to change your mind." Ironwood leaned against the bars. "You're going to prison, Torchwick. However, you've got a choice in this. I can get you a trial in front of civil authority. Most likely you'll get life, but that's better than the alternative…which is a military tribunal, with the authority to stand you on a wall and shoot you."

"What about my rights, General?" Torchwick acted nonchalant, but Ironwood saw him pale a little.

"What about them, Torchwick? You're a pirate. Some of our oldest laws in this nation deal with piracy, and pretty much all of them authorize me to hang you—literally. Under the Aerial Pirate Prevention Act of 1989, the penalty is death by firing squad."

"I'm surprised I even get a trial."

"You still have the right to that," Ironwood answered. "Even a tribunal will provide you a defense lawyer. But it's going to take the best lawyer since Daniel Webster to get you to beat about thirty counts of air piracy. Not to mention terrorism. Unless, of course, you want to cut a deal."

"What's on the table?" Torchwick propped himself up on an elbow.

"Tell me who's behind all this."

Torchwick grinned. "Me."

Ironwood chuckled. "Try again. You don't have the resources for this."

"No," Torchwick sighed, "not anymore."

"Sienna Khan?"

Torchwick gave it some thought. "Yes."

"Who else?"

"Just her."

Ironwood got back to his feet. "Just her?"

"Well, her and her White Fang buddies—if they're still alive."

"Is that all?" Ironwood asked.

"That's it," Torchwick said. He stood up. "Do I get my phone call now?"

"Who are you going to call?"

"Ghostbusters." Torchwick couldn't resist.

Ironwood actually laughed at that. "Good one." His smile abruptly disappeared. "You know more than you're saying, Torchwick. I don't know why you're not spilling your guts, since the White Fang hung you out to dry, but that's up to you." The general idly inspected his fingernails. "There's one other option I have. I've got some friends in the CIA. I could hand you over to them. They won't be as friendly. Roman Torchwick could…disappear. Who would mourn you?"

Torchwick lay down on his bed. "You'd break the law? I'm still an American citizen."

"You'd be surprised what I would do to win, Torchwick." Ironwood banged a fist on the bars, making the air pirate jump. "Think it over. You won't be transferred to Leavenworth for a few days."

"Hey, General." Torchwick's voice stopped Ironwood halfway through the door. "Have you considered that I'm more afraid of her than you?"

Ironwood knew who he was talking about. "She can't get to you here, Torchwick. I can. Good night."

* * *

Yang walked down the flightline. She couldn't resist looking around at all the aircraft. The pilots were partying, but for the ground crews, it was the first of a few sleepless nights. Though the GRIMM were almost certainly destroyed, missiles and guns were being loaded just in case more arrived. Aircraft with minor issues were being looked at—Yang passed _Crescent Rose,_ and she saw Ruby's crew chief and his crew already repairing the small hole the fragment had made. She returned the chief's wave. She whistled slowly as she passed Nora's _Magnhild. _The entire front end of the A-10 looked like it had gone through a blender, and the canopy was a shattered mess. One engine cover was lying on the tarmac, peeled back as if by a can opener, and one tail was little more than a mass of holes. Still, the tough Warthog had done what it was designed to do, and brought Nora home. Four revetments were empty—Sky Lark's Hawk was at the bottom of the Mississippi, and Ruth Lionheart's Jaguar and Fox and Velvet's Tornado were blackened wreckage in the forest of southern Minnesota. Coco's Mirage was in a hangar, having been dragged off the runway.

Though she didn't mind the walk, Yang was still glad to reach the end of the dispersal area, where _Ember Celica_ sat, across the taxiway from _Gambol Shroud._ Yang's crew chief, who was short and stocky where Ruby's was big and heavy, leaned against the F-15. In his hand, he held a large spanner wrench. Since _Ember Celica_ had not taken any hits, the chief was the only one by the aircraft; the others were helping Nora's crew.

"Hey, Sarge," Yang greeted him. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure," the crew chief replied. He motioned at the knoll overlooking the dispersal, where Blake had poured her heart out to Yang—_was that just the day before yesterday?_ Yang wondered. "Someone came down the line about twenty minutes ago, looking for you. Never seen her before in my life, but she's wearing a flight suit."

"Visiting pilot?"  
"Beats me, ma'am. There aren't any aircraft in at the transient tarmac. The B-52s went back to O'Hare, and the tankers are down in Milwaukee." He looked worried. "Something isn't right about her, Captain. I've never seen the helmet that she has with her, and I've been in the Air Force for damn near twenty years."

"Did she look like she was going to whip my ass?" It occurred to Yang that it could be Neo Politan, who she was sure had damn near killed her today, but she didn't think Neo would be crazy enough to sneak into a heavily-guarded military base just to chat.

"Actually, no, Captain, but…" The sergeant hesitated. "She's up there, ma'am. Maybe you better go see for yourself. But before you do…" He held out the spanner wrench, and held up a radio. "I can call the air cops, too, if you like."

"That's okay." Yang started towards the hill, then accepted the wrench. She continued up the hill, glad that her chief was watching. She wished she'd brought a gun.

The figure was easy to see. She was about the same height as Yang, dressed in what was obviously a well-tailored, custom flight suit of black and red, but it was indeed the helmet that was the most arresting. It didn't look like a helmet so much as it looked like the skull of some predator: white with red streaks, and instead of a visor, four slits that looked like four eyes. "Who the fuck are you?" Yang asked.

The figure's laugh was muffled by the helmet. "Oh, you're mine. If there was any doubt, you're mine." She reached up and took off the helmet, and Yang nearly fell in surprise. The hair was black, the eyes were a reddish-brown, but the features were her own. "You've been looking for me for awhile, Yang. I'm your mother—Raven Branwen."


	55. When Doves Cry

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A short-ish chapter this time after all the long ones, but a big chapter: Yang meets Raven. In actual RWBY, Yang's first meeting with her mother largely happens offscreen. They have a lot more to say to each other in later seasons, as they do here._

_And a little bit of Arkos, because Pyrrha and Jaune deserve a moment._

* * *

_Building 111713 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_4 May 2001_

Pyrrha Nikos walked out of the bar, up the stairs, and into the fresh, crisp air. The night air felt good after the increased fetidness of the bar, where sweat, beer and cigarette smoke were starting to form a disgusting miasma. She'd also had a bit more to drink than she had intended. Pyrrha wasn't drunk, but she wasn't feeling much pain, either.

"Pyrrha?" She turned at the sound of Jaune's voice. He came out of the club as well. Jaune had drank five beers—one for each of his kills—but didn't seem to be showing much effects. "You okay?"

"Yes, Jaune. Thanks for asking. Just heading back to my room…I'm quite tired, I'm afraid. Getting too old to drink all night and fly all day." The latter was a lie; Pyrrha was not even thirty yet.

He got closer. "Just checking. Since, you know…last time."

Pyrrha smiled. "That was very sweet of you, but this is different. I actually feel…quite good." At his look of concern, she laughed softly. "I'm not drunk, Jaune. Just…happy." She wasn't sure why she felt happy—more sentient beings had fallen under her guns today—but there was something about the camaraderie in the club. Dancing on the bar with Yang and Nora, chugging a beer with a happy Velvet, kissing Neptune on the cheek, getting kissed by Ruth—it was something she hadn't experienced since before Crete, and was sorely missed.

"I'm glad." Jaune paused, summoned his courage, and went for it. "Walk you home?"

"That sounds lovely." He put out his arm, and she took it. They laughed and separated a block later—it was hard to coordinate their walking—but they still were close to each other. Neither said much on the way; they just enjoyed the night air and each other's company. Neither mentioned the battle.

Too soon, Jaune thought, they reached the door to the female officers' quarters. Jaune was tempted to ask her for a nightcap, which might lead to something else, but that seemed too forward, too much like he was only being kind because he wanted to sleep with her. Pyrrha, for her part, was also wondering if she should ask him to her room. There was an even chance that Nora would either end up in Ren's room tonight, or passed out in the bar again, and in any case, she would more than understand if there was the proverbial sock on the door. Yet Pyrrha was also afraid of seeming too forward, and she did not want to get involved with another fighter pilot. Those relationships rarely ended well.

"Well…good night," Jaune said, scratching the back of his head.

"Good night," Pyrrha replied, looking at her boots. Then she decided. She reached up, grabbed Jaune by the cheeks, and kissed him. Not on the cheeks, but squarely on the lips. She let go quickly, smiled a gentle smile that was his alone, and went into the FOQ before she was tempted beyond reason to do anything else.

Jaune stood there for a moment in shock. Then he grinned to himself, turned, and began walking briskly back to the club, whistling the Marseillaise.

* * *

Yang got back her balance. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Raven put a hand on her chest in mock shock. "Yang Xiao Long! Is that any way to talk to your mother?"

"I don't know," Yang growled, "since I haven't seen you since I was a baby. You picked a weird time to start claiming me."

"It's also a hell of a way to talk to someone who saved your ass today," Raven snapped.

Yang once more felt like the world was about to roll out from under her. "What? _You?_ In that…whatever the hell it was?"

Her mother smiled and nodded. "It's called a Night Raven. Well, we call it that—the Air Force was going to call it a Foxfire or something. Experimental aircraft, meant to be a high-altitude, high-speed interceptor designed to destroy Nevermore in a single pass. Made in America with experimental Russian tech recovered after the Third World War. So stealthy radars won't even pick it up. Equipped with DUST. But hey, I don't want to brag or anything." Her smile broadened. "We stole it. I understand the Air Force was quite upset. It took them years to replicate it in a B-1."

"'We'?"

"The Branwen Tribe," Raven answered. "Your Uncle Qrow never told you? Typical." Raven sat down, setting her helmet next to her, and crossed her legs.

"How did you even know where I was?"

"I was actually coming to see you. I've got the Night Raven stashed not too far away. I heard you were looking for me through the grapevine, and decided that you were right; it was high time we met again. Then I picked up the radio traffic, heard your name mentioned, and headed in your direction, just in case. You know everyone monitors Guard frequency." Raven shrugged. "You could at least say thank you."

"Thank you," Yang replied, though there was no affection in it.

"Sit down, sit down." Raven patted the ground next to her. "Let me look at you. I've seen pictures, but I admit you're even more beautiful in person. You got my figure and my face, and Tai's hair." She sighed wistfully. "At least Taiyang and I made a beautiful baby."

"Did you ever love him?"

Raven's affable demeanor disappeared. "I'm not here to talk about your father."

"Or how you left him with a baby? Alone?"

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. "Oh, he wasn't alone, Yang. He had Summer Rose. Tai didn't exactly let the grass grow under his feet. I wasn't gone two years before he'd already knocked Summer up." Raven closed her eyes and took a breath. "Not that I blame him, I suppose. Short Stack was a catch."

"She was there and you weren't."

Raven shrugged again. "All right. I was hoping for something different than this, but all right." She got to her feet. "I didn't just come here to see you, and I certainly didn't come here to argue about something that happened twenty years ago. Taiyang and I had our time in the sun together, but those days are over—"

"Why did you leave him?" Yang demanded. Her fingers tightened on the wrench. "Tell me, or I swear to God I will stave in your fucking _skull!"_

Raven blinked at the venom in her daughter's voice. "I see you inherited the Branwen temper, too. All right. I'll tell you, say my piece, and then I'm gone."

"Unless I have the air cops throw your ass in jail."

Raven laughed humorlessly. "Yang, I got onto this base without anyone knowing. I walked down the flightline and people barely looked. The Branwen Tribe exists by stealing, looting, and surviving any way we can. I attended Vytal Flag here four years running, back when Summer, Tai, Qrow and I were in Strike Flight. I know more ways in and out of this base than Ozpin does, and that includes what's under it."

"I'm not hearing you talking about why you left Dad yet." Yang took a step forward and raised the wrench a bit higher.

"Hmm. I'm beginning to think you'd do it." When Yang took another step, Raven put up a hand. "I left your father because I had to. Not because I didn't love you, Yang. I did. I still do. And I loved Tai. But the tribe was more important."

"You threw away your career, your marriage—_me—_for the fucking _tribe?"_ Yang shouted.

"I'd prefer the entirety of Joint Base Beacon not hear our family spat, Yang." Raven got closer and dropped her voice. "Yes. I did. In case you haven't figured it out yet, Darwin was right. Only the strong survive in this world, Yang. And the tribe needed strength. They gave me and my brother everything. Was I supposed to just turn my back on them?"

"Nice words," Yang said. "But was that the real reason—Raven?"

Raven seemed taken aback at Yang's use of her name, and didn't answer at first. "I've had enough of this. I'll come to the point." She waved a hand at the flightline. "What happened today was nothing. It was probably an accident. Your flight—I know it's yours, even if your half-sister leads it—probably tripped it early. But the White Fang aren't destroyed, Yang, and even if they are, there's more going on than you realize. They will try again, and this time, I doubt you'll even see them coming. Ozpin has quite a few blind spots, and he won't acknowledge them. I know; I used to work for him." Raven shook her head. "There is a storm coming, Yang. This was just the leading edge of it. And I'm not going to be around to save you next time."

Yang stared at her mother. "So what should I do?"

"You should run. Get transferred out of here, back to Signal. You and Ruby—I owe Summer that much. We were good friends, once. Then, when you can, fly out to California and see me."

"There's nothing left of California."

Raven gave another snort of a laugh. "That's what the government tells you. They're lying, as usual." She reached out and put a hand on Yang's shoulder. "We control the California coast. Fly out there. Make up an excuse. You'll have a place in my tribe. For that matter, so will Ruby. I doubt she'll accept it, because she's got Summer's martyr complex, but I'd welcome her too. Being an air pirate isn't easy, but it beats being dead. Which is what you'll be if you stay here."

"So we should run, huh?" Yang was motionless for a moment, then slapped her mother's hand away. "No, Raven. That's what you did. That's all you've ever done."

Raven's temper flared, and she stabbed a finger into Yang's chest. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm still your mother."

Yang met Raven's gaze without flinching. "No. Summer Rose was my mother." Then she turned and began walking down the hill, tapping the wrench against her thigh.

"I won't save you again, Yang!"

Yang thought she detected tears in Raven's voice, but she didn't care. "So what else is new?" she said over her shoulder.

* * *

Yang returned to the club. Ruby Flight was sitting at their table. Weiss and Blake were well on their way to being pleasantly inebriated, and Ruby—having finished her one beer—was now just drinking soda. Yang stopped by the bar, got a beer, and took the remaining seat.

"Hey, Yang!" Ruby greeted her. "Where'd you go? You've been gone awhile. You missed Ruth Lionheart proposing to Scarlet David!" Yang said nothing, only stared at the beer. "Which is funny, because Scarlet doesn't like girls, and…" Her sister still said nothing, just reached forward, popped the top off the beer, and took a drink. "Yang?"

Blake reached out and took Yang's hand. "Yang, what's wrong?" Weiss' eyes were filled with concern as well.

Yang took another drink, then her lips began to tremble. She set the beer down, then put her head down and started to cry, her whole body shaking. She pounded at the table with a fist, unable to stop. No one noticed in the bar, but Ruby Flight stood as one, came around the table, and hugged Yang as she continued to cry.


	56. Animal Instinct

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: See the notes at the end of the story. _

* * *

_Covert Base Hector_

_North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_4 May 2001_

"My name is Matthew Beck," the security policeman said, spitting blood. "Technical Sergeant, United States Air Force. My service number is 159-17-1802. My birthdate is 22 June 1971."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Sienna Khan warned. She held a pistol to the back of the kneeling sergeant's head. "I've already asked this question once, Sergeant. I want the security codes for this base."

"He's not going to tell you," Ilia Amitola said. She stood behind Sienna, her arm in a sling. She had ejected from her burning F-5 without injury, but hit a tree branch on the ground. The arm was sprained rather than broken. "They have a Code of Conduct. They're not allowed to tell us."

Arthur Watts leaned against one of the helicopters. "We don't need him to tell us," Watts told Sienna tiredly. "I can break their codes. Give me some time."

"We might not have time!" Sienna shouted. "If the Air Force finds out we're here, we're dead!"

Adam Taurus sighed. He was standing next to the Moonslice in the huge hangar at Hector; next to his aircraft was the blood red F-22. Neo Politan sat against the Raptor's nose gear, despondent, unresponsive after learning Torchwick had been captured. Watts had heard it during the trip over on military radio traffic, and it was confirmed by internet news sources by the time the White Fang had taken Hector.

It had not been easy. After the debacle at Mountain Glenn, there were only about 130 White Fang left, and that included Watts, Adam, and Sienna. They had crowded onboard six converted Sea King helicopters, having burned everything in Mountain Glenn they couldn't take with them, and escaped the underground base in the confusion of the GRIMM attack. The last helicopter had been taking off when Ilia ran onto the former South St. Paul airport, having managed to evade back from where she had been shot down. They had linked up with Moonslice and Neo's Raptor and flown into the approaching darkness.

Hector was never expecting an attack. Watts had the correct passwords, and before the defenders of the covert base knew it, White Fang troops were pouring out of the helicopters, angry and better-armed. Their frantic calls for help went unheard—once more, Watts had jammed them, this time using an electronic countermeasures pod jury-rigged under one of the helicopters.

Still, the USAF personnel had put up a fight; Watts, who had told the White Fang that the base only had a single .50 caliber sniper rifle, was as surprised as anyone else when a Javelin had blown one of the helicopters apart. The sniper in the tower had turned six White Fang into mist before Sienna herself killed the sniper with a RPG. When the last pocket of resistance had finally surrendered in the kitchen, 35 of the 50 USAF personnel at Hector were dead, but they had taken nearly fifty White Fang with them.

And since then, Sienna had been killing prisoners. Watts rolled his eyes as she shot Sergeant Beck in the back of the head. "This is ridiculous," he told Amitola. He could not have cared less for the killing, but Sienna was wasting what could be valuable hostages.

There was only one prisoner left, a Faunus. Sienna leveled the pistol at the back of her head. "Give me the security codes—"

"High Leader, that's enough." Both Sienna and the Faunus looked up in surprise as Adam pushed off the Moonslice and walked forward. With a smile, he waved Sienna off. Adam knelt in front of the Faunus. "Do you know who I am?"

"My name is Franceska Malikov," the Faunus said, staring straight ahead, looking past him. "Staff Sergeant, United States Air Force, serial number—"

Adam chuckled. "Sergeant, your Code of Conduct prevents you from answering questions that compromise your honor as a member of the United States Air Force. But surely you can tell me if you know me."

Malikov stared back defiantly, then spoke quietly. "You're Adam Taurus. She's Sienna Khan. All Faunus know you two."

"Good. Stand up, Sergeant; it's undignified." She got to her feet, though she kept her hands on her head. "Now then. We are Faunus, right?" Adam said. He motioned around. "All of us—well, almost all of us—are Faunus. You know what the White Fang was founded for. You know what we're about."

"I do," Malikov told her. "You're terrorists."

Adam laughed. "No, Sergeant. We're freedom fighters. We're trying to free the Faunus, not kill them."

"You're scum."

Sienna snarled and brought up the pistol, but Adam once more waved her away. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Francheska. But maybe you'll change your mind after awhile with us. You'll see that we're _not_ what you think you are."

"Really? How do you explain that?" Malikov pointed to the bodies of the men and women Sienna had shot.

"They're humans, Francheska." Adam shrugged, as if Malikov had been asking about why an anthill had been kicked.

"They were my friends!" she shouted.

Ilia stepped forward. "Don't kill her. We can use her as a hostage."

"For who?" Sienna asked. "Everyone else is dead. Did you see anyone bail out?"

"Torchwick."

Sienna almost said that Torchwick could go hang, but with Neo there it would be inadvisable. In fact, the small woman was standing now, walking towards them. "They're not going to trade a nobody sergeant Faunus for the most wanted air pirate in the Remnant."

"She could still be valuable."

"I agree," Adam said. "Humans are one thing, High Leader. A Faunus is one of us." He turned back to Malikov. "Were you the only Faunus on base, Francheska?"

Malikov put her face in her hands. "Please," she begged. She stepped closer to Adam. "Please. No more."

Adam went to put a hand on her shoulder, but without warning, Malikov kicked outwards, aiming squarely for Adam's crotch. He turned to the side, and it turned a devastating hit to just a graze. He still sucked in his breath in pain and doubled over.

The hangar froze for a moment, as Malikov took a step back, hands raised in defiance. Watts let out a guffaw of laughter, followed by Sienna, then Ilia, then Adam himself. He straightened up, a bit of pain on his face. "Oh, that was good!" he grinned. "That was very good. I like you, Francheska. I think we'll keep you around—"

Everyone jumped as a gunshot rang out. Malikov's head snapped backwards, and blood sprayed across the floor and Sienna's boots. The Faunus' body hit the floor as the gunshot continued to echo around the hangar. Adam looked around. Neo stood, arm leveled, a snubnosed .38 in her hand, her face twisted in hate. "They have Roman," she snapped. "Fuck them _all."_ Then she holstered the .38 in her survival vest and walked back to the F-22, where she sat back down and returned to staring into space.

"Apparently Miss Politan doesn't believe in the brotherhood of Faunus," Watts commented.

"A waste," Adam sighed. He motioned towards some of the nearby White Fang, their jerkins dirty and bloody, their eyes bright with exhaustion. "Take the bodies away and bury them somewhere that won't be easily seen. We have to get everything undercover before the next satellite pass, or the next USAF aircraft arrives." He pointed to a burly White Fang with a bloody bandage around his head. "Berk, do an inventory. Find out what's left. Food, weapons, uniforms, the lot."

"Yes, sir." No one seemed to mind that Adam, not Sienna, was suddenly in charge.

"Watts, crack those codes. We can bet that the Air Force checks in with Hector on a regular basis, and we'd better figure out what code words they use." He crooked a finger at Ilia. "Amitola, come with me." Ilia did not pale, but her facial color noticeably took on a lighter hue.

* * *

They walked out of the hangar into the hallway connecting it to the control tower. He stopped her by putting a hand out, then forcing her back to a wall. She recognized the tactic: Adam had used it on Blake on occasion. "Why did you sabotage the Moonslice?" he asked, without preamble.

"I-I didn't—"

Adam shook his head slowly. "Ilia, Ilia, Ilia. Don't lie to me. My crew chief confirmed it. So have others. You were the only one near it, 'preflighting' it." He thumbed open the katana. "You know how I value the truth, Ilia."

Ilia could not meet his eyes. "Yes, Adam. I did sabotage it. I had to. You had no chance in that dogfight. Not even you."

"No. That's not the real reason." He leaned closer to her, his mask an inch from her forehead. "What _is_ the real reason, Ilia?"

Ilia hesitated, then her eyes became misty. "It was for Blake."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You always did have more than a little affection for Miss Belladonna." He touched her cheek; Ilia shrank away from it. "Were you trying to get me killed, so you could have Blake all to yourself?"

"N-no," Ilia protested. "I-I don't want you killing each other, Adam. I don't want you killing Blake. She's my friend."

The fingers ran down her cheek. "She deserted our cause, Ilia. Every military shoots deserters. And traitors."

"Please…" A tear gathered in the corner of her eye, and he brushed it away.

"Ilia, don't worry," Adam said gently. "I don't want to kill Blake. I never have. I love her too, you see. I don't want Blake dead. Only punished, so she realizes the error of her ways. And she will, Ilia. She'll come back to us. Both of us." He kissed her forehead. "I forgive you, Ilia. You were just trying to protect our friend, and that's commendable. But don't do it again. Ever. Leave Blake to me, all right?" He drew himself back to his full height, and pulled his arms down. "Let's get back to work, and put this behind us. No more will be said."

"Yes, sir." Ilia followed Adam back into the hangar.

* * *

_Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_4 May 2001_

"Captain Ozpin, you are to be commended for your rapid reaction to the attack on the Mississippi River Barrier."

Ozpin stood behind his chair, leaning on his cane. There was no reason to be standing, but he felt the need to. The voice came from the speaker on his phone. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary."

"And you as well, General Ironwood."

Ironwood, who was sitting across from Ozpin's desk resting his head on folded hands, nodded, although Secretary of Defense Jason Terasoma could not see him. "We did our duty, Mr. Secretary. If you want to thank someone, thank our brave pilots. We'll be sending in commendations within the next week."

"Of course, General. I'll make sure those will be expedited."

"Mr. Secretary, if there's a way you could also coordinate with the State Department regarding Pyrrha Nikos' immigration request…" Ozpin added.

"I'll do what I can," Terasoma replied. "State gets nervous when we make requests. But I'll do everything I can." There was a pause; both men heard paper being shuffled. "So then Vytal Flag will go as scheduled?"

"Yes," Ozpin replied. "But once more, I must protest it being broadcast."

"Nothing secret will be recorded, Captain," Terasoma reassured him.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Secretary. I just don't feel comfortable with the trainees here having to worry about what looks good for the cameras rather than doing their job."

"Emphasis to them that it's not necessary, Captain. We're not following them into their barracks. This isn't reality TV. We just want to show the people of the world that their militaries stand ready to defend them against the threat of GRIMM."

"They should already know that," Ozpin snapped, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. "This isn't the Olympics, Mr. Secretary—"

"Captain." Terasoma's voice hardened. "Vytal Flag is being recorded. That comes from the top. President Shawcross wants it. Vice-President Dunkelman wants it. The EU Council and Jacques Schnee want it. I can keep going, Captain. This is happening. End of discussion."

"Yes, sir." Ironwood could see Ozpin was seething, but this was his duty as well.

"No more of that, Captain Ozpin. I don't like chewing out someone, especially someone that's due for promotion. Overdue, actually."

"Not necessary, Mr. Secretary." Ozpin knew what Terasoma was referring to. A promotion to Rear Admiral would be a graveyard promotion, after which Ozpin would be eased out of the Navy altogether, put out to pasture. He had been able to duck promotion so far, relying on his war record and his ability to game the system, but the hangman would eventually find him.

"We'll talk about it after Vytal Flag has concluded," Terasoma was saying. More shuffling of paper. "General Ironwood, though Captain Ozpin retains command of JRB Beacon and Vytal Flag, we would like you to remain in temporary command of the Vale Air Defense Region until the exercise ends."

"Very well, Mr. Secretary."

"And afterwards, you'll be pleased to know that the EU has accepted your promotion to SACEUR."

Ironwood's head came up, shock on his face. He hadn't expected that. Ironwood had made some enemies, highly placed enemies, in the European Union, and though he was on the short list for promotion to the highest military command in Europe—Supreme Allied Commander Europe, or SACEUR—he figured that those enemies would block him from command. SACEUR would cap his own career, although he would be one of the youngest men to ever hold the job. "Th..thank you, Mr. Secretary."

"Let's see, there was just one last thing here…oh yes. As both you gentlemen are aware, Vytal Flag is a rather expensive undertaking, and the deployment of the 1st Armored Division to Wisconsin, while necessary at the time, has cut into our emergency funds for the military budget. Therefore, it is my decision, and the Joint Chiefs, that all but one brigade be withdrawn back to Texas. General Calavera will remain in command, under you, General Ironwood. We'll also be redeploying the B-52s back to Fairford and Barksdale."

Ozpin closed his eyes. "Mr. Secretary, I hate to sound like a broken record, but once more I have to protest."

Terasoma sounded surprised. "Captain, weren't you against the deployment in the first place?"

"I was, but that was when we were under the impression that the GRIMM threat was at manageable level—"

Terasoma laughed. "Didn't your forces just wipe out the largest GRIMM attack on the Barrier in ten years? Didn't they just reduce the White Fang and the Torchwick Gang to a footnote in history? The emergency's over, Captain. I wanted to withdraw everything from Wisconsin, but President Shawcross requested that we keep at least one brigade on station."

_Don't,_ Ironwood mouthed to Ozpin. Ozpin was about to remind Terasoma that it had been the government that had insisted on moving the entire division to Wisconsin in the first place. Of course, the accident of the attack—and Ozpin was convinced that it _had_ been an accident—made them look smart in doing so. Ozpin shook his head in frustration, but answered, "Very well, sir."

"Good. I know you're not enthusiastic about it, Captain, but your responsibility is Beacon and Vytal Flag. Leave the rest to Ironwood there and us." Another pause. "I think that will be all, gentlemen. I'm looking forward to seeing what this year's exercise will deliver. We'll put on a good show for the taxpayers. Good day, gentlemen." The line clicked off.

"Say what you want to, Ozpin," Ironwood smiled.

"No thank you. The level of my cursing would melt the paint off these walls." He settled for slamming a fist on the back of his chair. "James, they're just reacting. All they've been doing is running around like the proverbial headless chicken, and complimenting themselves when it somehow goes right. First we're told the Torchwick Gang wasn't a threat, and then, after our pilots have done the heavy lifting and risked their lives, they send in Delta Force to Cleveland. We're told that the GRIMM threat was low by our intelligence sources, and the government panics and sends an entire division up here because of a relatively small attack on the Barrier last month. Now, when the GRIMM threat turns out to be much higher, and barely we stop it largely with the forces that were already here at Beacon, they decide everything's fine and pull everything back."

"You don't think she's done." Ironwood made it a statement, not a question.

"Are you referring to Salem or Sienna Khan, James?" Ozpin asked.

"Both."

"Sienna has gone to ground again. I doubt we'll find anything in Mountain Glenn, even when Delta goes in to check out the place. He's right that the Torchwick Gang is largely gone, but I doubt we've heard the last of the White Fang. Sienna's message still resonates with many Faunus, and I suspect she'll replace her losses in men quickly. And if Captain Long's and Captain Belladonna's reports are accurate, she might be able to replace her materiel losses quickly as well." Ozpin moved around to his chair and sat down heavily. "I don't think Salem planned this attack. I think our assessment is correct. Ruby Flight tripped it early. It was too uncoordinated."

"She's not perfect, Ozpin. As well you know."

Ozpin nodded tiredly. "I do. But she's also not stupid. I don't think this was the main attack. Something worse is coming."

"That's what Torchwick said. And strangely enough, I believe him." Ironwood got to his feet. "I need to meet with Calavera. Is OSI still handling the investigation into the computer break-in?"

"Yes. So far, nothing."

"Let me know."

"Of course, James." Ozpin got to his feet and extended his hand. "Let me congratulate you, at least. SACEUR is quite something. You're following in the steps of some great men—Eisenhower, Patton IV, Abrams…"

The General took the hand. "Sure. Unless we fuck up something with Vytal Flag." Ironwood chuckled. "Still, worth it just to watch Jacques Schnee gnash his teeth. Winter's heading back to Germany later today to visit her family, see if there's anything to that White Fang business. I'm sure she'll throw that at him." He rolled his eyes. "How that bastard became the most powerful man in Europe, I'll never know."

"Money and lots of it." Ozpin sat back down. "All right, James. Dinner, later?"

"Sounds good. I'll buy." They shared a laugh at that. Ironwood threw Ozpin a half-assed salute, and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Ozpin turned in his chair, and spent some time staring at the window on the flightline. He watched _Crescent Rose_ being towed to a new hardstand. "Silver eyes," he murmured. Then he turned back to his desk, pulled out the worn picture of the shyly smiling blonde woman, and rubbed a finger over it. "Salem," he whispered, "what are you thinking?"

* * *

_That's the end of "On RWBY Wings." I've already posted the first chapter of the second "season," titled "On RWBY Wings II: Vytal Flag." The story of Ruby Flight is far from over. I'll keep writing as long as someone keeps reading._

_Thanks to everyone who has read this story, left reviews, and lended their expertise and ideas. I hope you'll stick with the story. And thanks to Rooster Teeth and especially the late, great Monty Oum for creating such a wonderful series, such great characters, and allowing people like me to play in it a little. _


End file.
